


the heart's a heavy burden

by iooiu



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Introspection, Post-Canon, Teeny Angst, all my hc in one place tbh, come slap me for this i promise to hold still, gon's trauma and killua's trauma playing rock paper scissors, killua is soft for three (3) people, my take on everything after the anime sorry i don't read manga, no beta we die like kurapika probably will, this is soft all i wanted to write was something soft and this is what i get for it, yall gotta stop hating on gon imma throw hands, zoldyck genes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iooiu/pseuds/iooiu
Summary: Gon had too much energy and not enough… bodily volume to contain it. He was always bursting at the seams, and it always made him appear bigger than he really was. His strategy of moving moving moving constantly gave off the impression that he was everywhere at once; a little boy with a wide field of vision. The result, a larger than life image.But Gon was small, and when he didn’t have the leeway to move move move, he was at a complete standstill, and that’s when Killua could see the proportionate Gon. A side of him that was real, something he found himself wanting to protect. Something worth protecting. Something that needed protection..         .         .What goes through Killua's head stays in Killua's head, but he had a feeling Gon knew exactly what he was thinking because, in the end, there was no such thing as sharing space with someone like Gon Freeccs.
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Alluka Zoldyck & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 66
Kudos: 127





	1. defrosting against my skin

**Author's Note:**

> uhm, uhm, hi hello

Contrary to popular belief, Gon’s body wasn’t a literal furnace while he slept, which was easily an assumption almost everyone who met him would make because of just how _radiant_ he was. He was a raging forest-fire trapped inside the body of a small twelve-year-old boy with short limbs, lithe, stringy muscles and big, big amber eyes that shone just as brightly as his personality did. He was always everywhere, barreling through without a second’s regard to just stop and think (because if he stopped, he would _have_ to think).

He was ungraceful (yet graceful), uncoordinated (yet coordinated) and a mess (whirlwind) of empty brain cells and over ambitious motives that more often than not led both him and everyone in the near vicinity into immediate danger. It was a miracle he still had a head on his shoulders to begin with, let alone still be brimming with that fiery energy that never seemed to waver.

Moving and moving and moving and only ever really _stopping_ because of Killua’s strategically placed foot in the middle of his path, (though he hasn’t been caught doing the act as of yet).

The fact of the matter was that, yes, Gon _was_ warm, and it seemed to filter through his skin via personality because there was no way someone could run that hot under a normal spring breeze.

However, when the sun finally set and surrendered its hold of the sky to the moon, Killua watched in a sort of rapt fascination as Gon just… shut down. No, that wasn’t the right word, but he really couldn’t put it any other way. The brightness in his eyes stayed, and Killua knew that Gon never really seemed to simply _sleep_ as night, but the energy thrumming in his veins never ceased its buzzing.

(He was like him, never being able to fall into a deep enough sleep that he could wake up in the morning and feel like he had rested his mind. He simply existed in a dark space behind his eyelids, letting his mind fall into a blissful ignorance while his ears remained alert without his permission. He succumbed to the feeling, accepting it as another scar he couldn’t shake off. But Gon wasn’t like him. He wasn’t dumped into a freezing lake and left to tread for days on end to build up the tolerance it took to fight off exhaustion. Why the other boy never truly slept either was beyond him, but it kind of made him feel nice, as selfish as that sounded. That he wasn’t the only one simply _existing_ ).

But despite his energy staying as bright as ever, his body seemed to adjust to the energy provided by the sun.

Here’s how Killua had initially found out this little revelation about his best friend.

It was well past midnight, and they both knew that if they were caught staying up late like this in the house that Mito would give them (both) an earful and make them stay inside doing chores all day (because apparently despite being a guest, Mito had come to see it as her personal responsibility to take Killua in as another abandoned child. She seemed to have a thing for scooping up unwanted kids and welcoming them into her heart, but Killua wasn’t complaining. Well, he didn’t complain when he wasn’t being forced to wash every dish until it shone with his own reflection.)

So the two of them suppressed their giddy laughter and crept through the window and back into the house, plopping into the singular bed with slight breathlessness (because Gon had thought it would be an absolutely _terrific_ idea if they ran around in the dead of night wearing nothing but their sleep wear so they, specifically _Gon himself_ , could burn out a couple' metric tons of his seemingly endless expanse of energy so they, specifically _Gon_ , could sleep better at night.

You could tell how well _that_ particular idea worked out.

It had still been fun though.)

The sheets were cold and stiff from unuse, and Killua wasted no time in burrowing himself into the blankets and sinking his head into the extra pillow Gon gave him the first night they arrived at Whale Island (he had abandoned the floor mattress for obvious reasons, mainly because he wasn’t about to sleep on a floor when there was a perfectly nice and comfy bed in the near vicinity). Gon was a little slower, getting up to close the window before shuffling into bed next to him, wiggling his way into the little leftover blanket space that Killua _wasn’t_ hogging. Tough luck.

At this point their breathing had slowed to shallow night-time whisps, barely audible in the quiet of the night. Killua rubbed his forehead into the pillow and let out a yawn, wincing at the pop in his jaw that left his left ear ringing. He watched Gon shuffle a little, turning to face him as he hunched his shoulders inwards.

Another peculiar observation on Killua’s part.

Gon had too much energy and not enough… _bodily volume_ to contain it. He was always bursting at the seams, and it always made him appear bigger than he really was. His strategy of moving moving moving constantly gave off the impression that he was everywhere at once; a little boy with a wide field of vision. The result, a larger than life image.

But Gon was small, and when he didn’t have the leeway to move move move, he was at a complete standstill, and that’s when Killua could see the proportionate Gon.

‘Wasn’t much different from the usual Gon, but he tucked the notion into a safe corner somewhere in his mind where he could happily dissect this new information later.

Instead of playing mind games with himself though, Killua watched Gon adjust himself, tiny bursts of his usual perky attitude formulating into little limb twitches and body shuffles here and there until finally he just stopped. Moving.

A complete standstill.

“Ne, Killua?”

“Hm?” He indulged, intrigued by this new side of his best friend (it still made him feel unreal, being able to freely say that title about someone and knowing it was fully reciprocated). In the back of his mind Illumi muttered about filing information on his future target because there was _no way little Killu could have friends, no_ way _. He was just waiting waiting waiting until that foot that stepped in Gon’s path tripped him so hard that wouldn’t be able to get up afterwards._

He blinked and shoved the shadow of Illumi out of his mind. He was a loser anyway.

“You don’t sleep, do you?”

Killua ponders over whether or not he should convince Gon he doesn’t sleep because he’s actually not even human, but decides that he’s too tired to come up with a good story, so he simply nods into his pillow.

“Yeah, I already told you that I can stay up for days on end. Part of my training.” He stated, simple and emotionless because he couldn’t really find himself holding any malice towards everything he’s undergone. He doesn’t see the point in mourning over the fact that he’s probably eaten every type of poison and has honed himself to endure enough electrical shock to kill a whale. He can’t change the past, and when he really thought about it, he didn’t even know if he would have, had he been given the chance.

He was strong now. Strong and durable and practically unbreakable. He wouldn’t be where he was right now if it weren’t for everything he’s been through. It’s made him _strong_ damnit, and he detests being weak, and he _hates_ being powerless; maybe this was the product of being raised to cherish and thrive in strength and being on top of the food chain, but he can’t find himself wanting to go back to change anything.

He was _strong_. Stronger than any kids his age, stronger than most adults. He relishes in the fire of simmering beneath his veins, warming the fibres of his very being and promising him assured victory. They say if there’s no pain, there’s no gain, and Killua can say for a fact that it was true. His mind does not replay livid events in his past to haunt him, but instead rolls over his training in sequences until his cheeks hurt from grinning because wow, he was _strong._

(He told Leorio once, what he went through to be able to take the Hunter Exam with half-lidded eyes, and he had first been shocked, then resigned, then angry. He told Killua how unfair his childhood had been, had told him he didn’t deserve everything he went through. When Leorio started cursing all the hardships Killua has survived and explained how he _shouldn’t_ have gone through it at all, Killua had frowned. This was why he didn’t tell others these kinds of things. They were too soft-hearted, too weak willed to understand.

Most of them, anyway.)

Well, maybe getting rid of the constant presence of his brother in the back of his mind would be nice, a chance at true freedom without restrictions keeping him bound. Everyone had their setbacks though, and his took the form of large dark eyes that resembled that of dead-eyed fish. (The mere fact that he was being weighed down by something so trivial was pathetic. He could boast all he wants, but he knows how useless he is, how utterly hopeless his heart. Too soft for an assassin and too crooked for the rest of the world. He didn’t really belong anywhere, and he found himself oddly at peace with the notion that he would never truly find a place where he would be content, accepted, at rest) 

Gon hummed, cutting through his thoughts easily, and the image of his brother faded again, this time without force. There just wasn’t such a thing as sharing space with Gon Freeccs. He was too much in too little and everything and nothing in between, and he demanded even the smallest attention.

“Yeah, but, like, _sleep_ sleep. Dreams n’stuff.” Gon whispered, as if sharing a secret under warming covers. Killua let out an inaudible breath and replied just as softly, suddenly unable to break the spell cast over their heads.

“No,” then as an afterthought, “I don’t dream,” then as an after question, “Do you?”

Did someone as bright and passionate and bubbly and simply impossible to tame down as Gon Freeccs dream? Probably, but then again, Gon wasn’t a heavy sleeper either.

No, Killua doubted if Gon _slept_ slept. More like just existed the way he did, and he hummed in thought, quietly and to himself. Killua associated the lack of rest with the boy’s endless energy, and concluded with this.

“Hm, I don’t think so, no.”

What an enigma, one Killua was torn between wanting to solve and cherishing it as is.

“Then what do you see when you go to sleep.”

“Well, black, I guess?” And then Gon’s brow furrowed and he pursed his lips as he thought of how to elaborate. Killua took this time to adjust himself and prop his head on his arm, elbow digging into the stiff pillow beneath him. He watched Gon’s eyes shine and flicker, thoughts spinning in his amber orbs and bare for him to see. He wondered if Gon let just about anyone view him as plainly as this, no extravagant flailing and loud shouting to appear bigger and stronger and _more_ of everything than he already was. He liked to think that he was one of a few.

The moonlight was thin tonight, but Killua’s heightened level still cast a shadow over the other, darkening his features and hiding the expanse of sun kissed freckles Killua knew littered the boy’s face like stars.

How poetic.

“Well, it kinda’ feels like, you’re numb. Uhm, but not fully asleep, because I can still hear things and feel everything. Oh! Like floating!”

A little inarticulate, but it got the point across.

“Huh, same here. I never sleep deep enough to dream.” He started, then dared to share his little secret, feeling compelled to tell this boy anything about him, anything to show him just how similar they were. It would give Gon less reason to ditch him, anyway, if he somehow found someone else who was more like him than Killua. “It’s almost like we’re just existing. I would say blissful ignorance, but you don’t know what that means.”

Gon happily chirped that no, he did in fact not know what that meant, and earned a soft flick to the forehead. The quiet spell dissipated, and Killua only mourned a little bit.

“So, what’s your reason for not sleeping?” He asked after mulling his options over. The truth was that he _liked_ telling Gon things about himself, things he had to go through to become strong, because he could see the way Gon’s eyes lit up and how he would get excited whereas anyone else would frown and call it something that _shouldn’t have happened._ In a tone that would suggest that the twelve years of Killua’s life had been nothing but a waste of time, a mistake, something that just… shouldn’t. Have. Happened.

He understood the sentiment, of course. He wasn’t stupid. Illumi had made Killua read books on human psychology when he had been nine, and he knew the terms like abuse and neglect and _trauma._ But he could confidently say he did not show any signs of experiencing those symptoms because that very notion was dumb in his opinion. He was standing here, wasn’t he? He wasn’t crying like a little shithead over why his family chose to wrongly put him through situations that would cause him harm. He was stronger now, and he didn’t feel remorse. Just plain indifference. If people were going to wrinkle their noses and pat him on the head and tell him that his entire life up until meeting Gon had been _something that shouldn’t have happened_ then _fuck them._

Gon wasn’t like that though. When Killua first breached the topic of his family profession, Gon hadn’t even blinked. Just asked if it was both his parents or just a father thing. And Killua revelled in that feeling of finally being able to have a normal conversation without the pity or empathy-try-hards and their diagnoses of ‘oh you poor thing, you _shouldn’t have gone through all that,_ you’re just a child! This world is so unfair sometimes’. Bullshit.

So yes, he didn’t back down when describing to Gon what he had to endure in order to be the person he was today, and whenever he talked about eating poisoned foods or being electrocuted or having to swim in frozen lakes, Gon took it all in with rapt fascination.

When Killua boasted loudly about how his body healed most of his scars and how his skin was practically unblemished, Gon would loudly exclaim about ‘how cool and strong Killua was’, and it made him smile because someone finally _understood._ The need for strength, for being able to stand on, for looking at his clenched fingers and knowing nothing could stop him, restrict him, bound him to something lesser than he knew he could achieve.

Gon wasn’t like the soft-hearted, too empathetic Leorio. He wasn’t like the revenge-oriented, carefully crafted Kurapika. Gon was standing on the thin veil between two immense forces, tiptoeing a hazardous line that Killua knew all too well. To balance on the edge, to feel the push and pull of either looming end and still refuse to fall through sheer will alone. Gon understood, in some twisted way, the thirst for steadying a shaking fist.

But he was curious too. Of _course_ he was. Why didn’t Gon, who lived on this peaceful island with a loving aunt and torture-less childhood, _sleep_ sleep (why was he so hell bent on being strong?).

Nature child was the perfect way to describe him, but even nature children fell into deep slumber under the protection of winding tree branches and wispy night breezes. Gon once told him that it was never cold enough to need to wear a jacket on Whale Island, and Killua could see why. It was the perfect definition of a lonely tropical island full of fish and fruits and lazy rolling hills for watching lazy rolling clouds.

Warm.

And Killua knew people liked to sleep in warm environments; it only made sense that the mere image of laying in the tall swaying grass of a hill soaking up the sun like a lizard would make one feel woozy and drowsy. He could picture _Gon_ in that specific scenario, grinning like the idiot he was as he dozed off in complete peace, and for a moment Killua envied Imagination Gon for his sheer luck.

Because he would kill for a chance to be there too, equally at peace with his racing mind and just… sleeping.

Gon shifted, and Killua’s eyes were drawn to the darkening red blooming over his cheeks and hiding his plethora of freckles under the hue. His own mind stilled, because he could count the amount of time Gon blushed on one hand, let alone appear as… utterly _embarrassed_ as he did now. It was practically engraved with his shameless attitude and complete obliviousness; the vaccine to flustered cheeks and stuttered words. What could _Gon Freeccs_ have to hide that made _Gon Freeccs_ embarrassed?

It made him hold his breath, anticipation swirling in his stomach and pressing against his throat.

“Uhm, well, it’s actually kinda’ dumb,” He started on his disclaimer, and Killua frowned when he realized he couldn’t see the honest intensity of his friend’s flushed skin, being dampened in its saturation by the dark of night, and it was a miracle that he was seeing the light color at all. (Another thing to thank his training for.) He would love to see the bright red creeping up caramel skin, if only to bask in the rare state known as Embarrassed Gon. What a missed opportunity.

Gon flicked his eyes to Killua and when he saw no change in his expression, he sighed and let himself draw figureless patterns in the mere inches between their hands, brow forming a soft wrinkle on his forehead. Killua resisted the urge to rub it away with his thumb.

“I just, I don’t know. My brain just doesn’t want to relax. It’s always buzzing.”

“Is it too noisy?”

“No, because I feel like if it was quiet, I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.” Gon explained, taking one of Killua’s hands and playing with the long slender digits between his cooler ones. It made Killua jolt slightly, because Gon’s skin was _frigid_ when he was usually so warm and basically the human embodiment of a radiator. It was normally Killua who was stuffing his cold hands into Gon’s back and relishing in the way he shrieked but let the other defrost against his hot skin.

Right now, though, Gon’s hands were oh so cold and leeching off the warmth Killua preserved like he usually did at night, and he found himself intrigued.

“I’m glad, though.” Gon continued, seeming to notice his unconscious hand-fiddling and choosing to continue to do it anyway, “I can hear Mito-san’s breathing from here.”

Oh. Well. That statement just gave Killua a lot to unpack. Interesting.

“Why would you need to?” Killua prodded, feeling Gon rub his forefinger between two of his tanned ones.

“I don’t know. I told you it was dumb. But… just to make sure, I guess.” Gon then sighed, like a weight was being lifted off his chest even though what he said made no sense, and he took the same finger he had been rubbing and used Killua’s own index finger to point to himself, wrist practically lax and boneless in his soft grasp. “What about you? What’s your story?”

“I don’t have a story,” he grinned smugly.

“Killua.” Gon whined out his name like a petulant little kid, like he usually did, and Killua snickered at the other boy’s pout.

“What? Okay, fine, I’ll draw. It’s because I’m – “

“If you say part fish I _will_ cry.”

“Okay, _fine_ , you big baby, but then you have to tell me your _real_ reason.”

Because Gon is ass at lying, even in the cover of darkness, and Killua’s known Gon long enough to know when he wasn’t telling the cold-hard facts.

“You first.” Gon insisted, accepting the fact that he had been caught and taking it in along with everything else that filled up his blackhole of a head. No thoughts, just a big blank area with absolutely nothing in it. Killua pondered on how easy it would be to get lost in thought in a mind like Gon Freeccs's, with all that empty space to aimlessly wander around in.

“ _Fine._ I don’t sleep-sleep because my brain’s always on over-drive and it never seems to be able to rest. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with how Illumi would come to my room on random nights to try and kill me. Kept me alert.” Killua explained, a proud grin tugging on his lips when Gon swooned over how ‘cool Killua is’. “But yeah, I could drop to the ground in exhaustion and still be awake up here- “ he tapped his temple with his unoccupied hand, “-but it’s a force of habit now. I _can’t_ sleep-sleep. Paranoia.”

Gon wrinkled his nose, and Killua exasperatedly explained what paranoia means.

“Oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“Okay, your turn.”

“Okay, but promise you won’t make fun?”

Killua rolled his eyes but gave his (albeit hesitant) word, because Gon was usually so open with his emotions, so plain and barren for Killua to see. He never seemed put out when he teased Gon about miniscule things, so he had to respect the sole thing his friend (best friend) asked of him through sheer sincerity.

“Well, ever since I was a kid, I wanted to make sure Mito-san wouldn’t disappear like Ging did. I think it grew into a force of habit too, because now I have to listen to your breathing every night to make sure you don’t disappear too.”

Well, _that_ certainly explained a lot, and Killua found his mind-fog clearing up with this new information.

“Makes sense. But you do know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

“Yeah, I know. But still. _You_ know Illumi isn’t here, so…” Gon trailed off, but Killua jutted his lip when he realized, _shit_ , Gon had a point there.

He made a mental note to reinvestigate the readings on human psychology if he ever got the chance to.

Gon traced small circles with his finger in Killua’s palm, the cool sensation of his frosted digits drawing cold curves in his warm skin. It made no sense, really. Why Gon would be so cold. It was almost like how his energy seemed to almost… go into a dormant state, as if making up for everything he expends under the sun.

Oh, the sun.

Whale Island was a warm place; tropical climates with a varying weather pattern of rainstorms and humid sunny days. He was pretty sure Gon didn’t even know what snow was, let alone know how to endure a climate colder than the blazing temperature of his little island home. He wonders how the other boy would react, when he would be able to touch snow for the first time. He would most definitely be cold, and he would probably steal Killua’s jacket and put it over his own. What a summer kid.

Nights on Whale Island weren’t cold though, not in the way Yorknew could be, or how cold it could get up in Kukuroo mountain. Yes, it wasn’t as warm as when the sun was shining down on the small speck of land, but it wasn’t, by definition, _cold._

Well, to Killua it wasn’t, and now that he thought about it, it would be within reason to believe that Gon didn’t have the same temperature tolerance as him. Gon told him about how taking the Hunter’s Exam had been the very first time he’d ever stepped foot off of the island. With all the facts laid out before him, it actually made a _lot_ of sense, why Gon seemed to set alongside the sun.

Not a nature child. Not a summer child. A sun child. Whose fluctuating movements copied that of the bright star lighting up the entire planet during the day.

Killua snickered, and cupped Gon’s cold cold cold fingers with his own much warmer ones, watching Gon giggle when he felt his hands start to thaw.

“My toes are cold too.”

“That’s your problem.”

“Hmm, I’ll make it your problem too,” And then even colder digits were pressing against his shins, and he hissed in surprise but didn’t back away because that would A) take a lot of effort and energy that he did _not_ possess right now and B) he was feeling a bit generous tonight, and he thought back to all the times he warmed his cold limbs against Gon’s hot ones, and felt that this was good enough to pay back for all of it.

“Wow, Killua, you’re so warm.”

“No, you’re just cold.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t feel any different from this morning.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

It was unfathomable, just how fond he was for this stupid little boy who though was older by two months, seemed to retain the roots of a toddler. It was crazy, because Killua normally tried to avoid people who were too loud on the basis that they were too annoying. But Gon was the definition of loud. Loud and obnoxious and brimming with the need to touch the stars. Killua didn’t understand, because every time his gaze wandered to Gon and his freckled face and bright amber eyes he melted a little on the inside because of just how much he cared for the idiot. His chest expanded, and he felt his mind fog up and his eyes soften in a way that only ever happened before (for a little girl trapped in a big big room) once. This boy who wanted to find his father because he wanted to see a world that was worth more than his own worth.

And it made Killua slightly frustrated, because Gon continued to chase this man, a man he doesn’t even remember, and all Killua can do is follow him because apparently Killua could never hold the same place in Gon’s heart as Gon did in Killua’s.

“You know,” Gon started, toes curling against his calves where he buried them between his legs. “I was being serious.”

“’Bout what?” He entertained him.

“I would be happy if I never found Ging.” And then Killua was replaying the events of a few nights ago, laying under the stars that shone in the unaltered sky of Whale Island. It was warm, like it always was, and the fire they had built had long since been reduced to embers.

Gon had been talking, quietly and pointlessly, but Killua listened. Not to the words, but the way Gon’s lips shaped each sentence, the tone of his childish tone, the way his lonely island accent would show through words like milk and floor and coffee. He watched as Gon stared at the night sky, his own galaxy of constellations plastered on his body, and Killua remembers fighting back the strong _stupid_ urge to brush his fingers over Gon’s face to see if he could rub those dark spots onto his own pale, unblemished skin. Like painting the stars he cared about most on the pads of his hands.

Gon had been talking, but he had caught Killua’s attention when those molten amber orbs turned to him, a not-smile dancing on his lips like the ghost of that engravement grin he normally wore. This one was no less endearing, but softer, tender somehow in a way that Killua found himself wanted to cup it with the gentle care of a mother and keep it safe from any harm.

“Hm?”

“I’m glad I met you.”

“Gon,” Killua huffed, cheeks tinting a rosy hue as he diverted his gaze. “You can’t say embarrassing shit like that.”

And Gon had laughed, not loudly but still full of innocent joy, and the sound reminded him of crows fighting for scraps of food and it wasn’t _really_ the most elegant sound out there, but Killua loved it. He cherished that way Gon snickered in his palm to try and stop giggling, the way his eyes crinkled and yet still managed to shine so brightly. It was crazy, just how crazy Killua was for him.

“It’s true though. I can’t describe it, but it’s kinda’ like you’re trying to squish yourself into my chest. I don’t think there’s any space left for Ging.”

As inarticulate as ever, and yet the way Gon gingerly touched his chest, thin shirt wrinkling slightly between his fingers, that Killua found himself touching his own. He knew that feeling, and it was almost painful, just how much of his heart Gon owned without even trying.

But he couldn’t get caught saying sappy shit like this, so he huffed and crossed his arms over his (aching) chest.

“Are you calling me fat?”

And then Gon was laughing again, and clutching his stomach and Killua was laughing too, the waves of sound echoed endlessly against the sky.

Maybe he was wrong. He thinks now, lying in this warm bed trying to warm up Gon’s limbs, that maybe Gon does cherish him. He was still obsessed with Ging, but when Killua mulled it over, he never remembers a time where Gon talked about his father and looked like he cared for him. Almost like this man who left him was someone he could never reach, like the stars high above their heads. So far away that it would fill them with content just being able to touch them.

Killua let a smile grace his lips, because if Killua was holding Gon’s hearts in his hands, then maybe it was okay to give a piece of his own away too.

“Well, we’re still going to find him?” Killua asked, and Gon nodded, energy seemingly renewed for a fraction of a second as he finally settled his feet comfortably between Killua’s shins, toes already warm.

“Hey, Killua?”

“Yes.”

“You asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Then after a moment, “You know, if I were to choose between you and Ging, I would choose you.”

That statement should _not_ have relieved him the way it did. He shouldn’t so easily be able to kick Ging out of Gon’s mind and take over like that. And yet it did, it made him feel light and airy, like he could hold his breath forever and just stare at Gon as he stared at him with eyes that resembled molten amber and golden tree sap. It was unfair, how Gon could seemingly read his mind, steal words from his mouth and heart effortlessly.

“You’re so unfair,” Killua sighed, deeming Gon’s hands warm enough to let go. He went back to tracing silver skin with his caramel fingers. “You say what I want to before I get the chance.”

“Really? Huh, guess that makes me a mind-reader then!” Gon giggled a little too loudly and Killua shushed him.

“Before I wouldn’t agree, but now I’m kinda’ starting to see it.”

Gon grinned, and Killua melted a little bit more.

. . .

He didn’t understand it, but everyone had assumed that when Gon and Killua had parted, it would last years and years, and that they would join together at the ripe age of adulthood stronger and more mature and in their early twenties (as if they had that kind of time, as of they could hold their breath for that long. He was barely making it past twelve years old). He didn’t understand, because he barely lasted a year without seeing the moron, let alone trying to avoid him for more than one.

Truth be told, the only reason they stayed apart for so long wasn’t because Killua was mad, or that he hadn’t forgiven Gon for everything he had said and done (he had forgiven Gon even before he had apologized, because he could never stay mad at him, could never feel any sort of resentment against a boy who had been so consumed in guilt that he couldn’t see what was in front of him), but because they simply needed to figure themselves out. Separate the difference between Killua and Gon and try a hand at independence again.

Killua had needed to find the boundary of his own worth, to once again establish that he _didn’t_ , in fact, have to give every piece of himself to Gon in order to be appreciated. He _didn’t_ have to sacrifice his hands or his heart or his life in order to make Gon happy.

And Gon had needed to understand that he couldn’t throw away himself like he was nothing, like he didn’t have people who cared about him, depended on him, who would be heartbroken and lost were he to leave to a place no one else could follow. He needed to find his feet after being swept away, and he had to find his strength while Killua found his.

But despite all this, he’d be damned if it ended up with him being Gon-deprived for more than a year, codependency issues aside.

So, by the tenth month, Killua decided it was high time that they reunited. 

Apparently, Gon had the same idea.

Their time apart was never sparse of phone calls and texts, even when Killua had to replace his number when Illumi found him (he kept that beetle monstrosity despite it being absolute junk at this point), having the other’s phone number memorized from even before they realized they’d have to split. So the moment Killua pressed ‘call’ on his new phone, his chest was fluttering with a giddy feeling, because he was _finally_ going to see his idiotic best friend after almost an entire year.

See, Killua never truly had it in him to hold a grudge against one of the most important people in his life. He was hurt, yes, more hurt than he’s ever felt in his entire life, and it left a gash far deeper than anything Illumi could have done. (Sometimes he could still feel it, this panging ache deep in his heart that told him Gon didn’t care, but he shook it off as fast as it came because that wasn’t even close to the truth. The truth was that the two of them had been thrown into a war made for adults as small kids who just wanted to touch the stars, and they had paid for it with their extended arms). He knew, had understood that Gon was hurting, just like him, in a way he never experienced before. Saw his own worth diminish with each of his failures just like how Gon’s words cut Killua’s heart open until it dripped numbly into his stomach.

How could he hate him? How could he blame him? And when Gon had phoned him three months after they split crying and crying and _crying_ about how selfish he was and how horrible of a friend he was and how Killua deserved the stars and instead Gon gave him shit. That he choked out ‘I’m sorry’s through gasping sobs that shook Killua’s phone from hundreds of miles away.

(He had cried too, endless wet tears that kept leaking out of his eyes no matter how many times he tried rubbing them away. He had cried quietly, just like he did everything else, but he knew that Gon knew, and knew that every single apology coming out of his mouth was just as sincere as the last and that he truly felt like he was the most terrible human being in the world. He told Killua that if he wanted, Gon would never show his face again. That if Killua saw fit, Gon would give up anything just to be forgiven.

Killua had threatened him then. That if Gon said one more bad thing about himself that he would come all the way to Whale Island to kill him himself. That Gon hadn’t been in the wrong, never was and never will. And that he was _sorry too damn it._

Sorry for not _seeing your pain._

Sorry for not _being there to help you with your fall_.

Sorry for letting _you go so far_ without realizing how bad it would _be for both of them_.

And Gon, the absolute moron, had laughed, thick and heavy and so full of relief that it had Killua laughing too.)

Many people expected Killua to ignore Gon’s texts and calls, to try and hide from him, to try and make Gon see just how ‘in the wrong’ he had been. But like Killua, Gon suffers quietly. And as quiet as it was, Killua still heard, just like Gon would always hear. Killua texts him just as often, calls just as frequent, because he could never hold anything against Gon fucking Freeccs. And maybe this was his greatest weakness, but this was one thing that he didn’t mind letting drag him down. He was still strong, still looked back at everything he’s survived and grinned in triumph, but when it came to a boy with bright eyes and a wide smile he knew that grin turned soft and wobbly on his lips. He was so damn weak for that kid, and it showed.

(He didn’t think this softness made him weak though. Illumi could fuck himself for all he cared, but this time he could let the trembling fist in his heart stay just that; shaky and uncertain but still _strong_.)

The apology had solidified something in his chest, though, that he had already known. That he loved this boy more than anything, and that Gon had never meant to hurt him, never meant to cause him pain. And Killua had apologized too. For not being the one to coax Gon into understanding that not every downfall had to fall on his shoulders alone. That he deserved more than he thought he did.

Man, they were so dumb. Alluka had happily told Killua this after what the two had dubbed The Call. She had wiped his snotty face and scoffed at how utterly braindead he was with his emotions, and Killua whole-heartedly agreed.

So, when the tenth-month mark hit, Killua made the phone call with excitement thrumming in his bloodstream. A year. Almost a whole fucking _year_. He missed him so damn much, and now he was finally going to see the moron and his stupid big eyes and his stupid freckles and his stupid _fucking smile._

And when Gon had picked up he had practically screamed ‘I WANNA’ SEE YOU’ (not practically; he did so shamelessly and _loudly_ ). It was unfair. Gon stole words from his mouth before he could taste them, but Killua was too excited to care now.

“I miss you too.” Killua laughed, albeit a bit wetly (he was such a softie, it made him wrinkle his nose. His family would be so disappointed. The thought made him smile).

“Ki-ll-ua! Please let me see you! Please!” He had asked then, because he was an idiot who had a small portion of his heart tell him that his worth in Killua’s eyes wasn’t a fixed constant. _Idiot._ That’s what Gon was. An absolute _idiot._

“You don’t have to ask.” Killua chuckled, grinning when Gon whined.

“Where do you want to meet?”

“Hm, how about Yorknew? Alluka and Nanika wanted to see you too.” He explained, because they did. Alluka wanted to see who the person who made Killua smile like a fool was like firsthand.

“Sounds good! Did you change at all? Dye your hair? What if I don’t recognize you!” Gon started listing off things that would make Killua’s appearance change, and Killua listened because he would never get tired of hearing his voice. “Oh! I got taller by two inches! ‘Couple more and I’ll be Ging’s height. What about you?”

Killua had paused, unsure because he hadn’t actually checked since he left the Zoldyck mansion nearly three years ago. How tall had he been then? 5’2? Well, this would be interesting. He told Gon he’d measure and find out if they were still the same.

He couldn’t exactly picture Gon as anything but the gangly twelve-year-old boy who was too small and too loud. Taller? Stronger? He better not have cut his stupidly soft hair. (It had hit him like a truck, when he first realized just how soft Gon’s hair was. He had Mito to thank for that, as the women made sure the boy washed it properly and even indulged in some kind of sea-shell conditioner she made herself. Gon had been appalled too, when he felt Killua’s hair.

It wasn’t soft like it so deceivingly appeared to be, rather, it was rough to the touch, like a calloused sock or won fabric of a favorite sweater. Killua hadn’t had the luxury of great hair care when he had intense training to go through, and more often than not found himself scrubbing at his scalp to get rid of blood rather than bodily oils. It made sense then, why his hair wasn’t as soft as many people assumed it would be.

Gon found it a pity, but Killua found joy in rubbing his head onto Gon’s skin and feeling him squirm in the discomfort of the rough texture.)

He tried thinking of an older Gon, even if it was just by a year. Tried picturing him taller, maybe broader if he was still training. Had he still been training? In strength most definitely, but last he heard Gon was still Nenless. He once saw Ging on national television, the recording in his hands replaying the scene of Leorio punching the scraggly man over and over until it satisfied something strange in his chest.

Ging didn’t look particularly impressive, and Killua couldn’t help but doubt that this man was one of the strongest hunters in the world. Would Gon grow past Ging’s rather sad status? Killua couldn’t see it no matter how hard he tried, and when he did he only saw shadows of things he wishes he could forget.

(He doesn’t think about the image of a man who was not his Gon. Who had been three times as tall and just as much wide, long seemingly endless hair drifting up and up and up like a dark dark dark waterfall. Surrounded by hot hot hot aura, the power of hatred, of fear, of being ready to give it all and hoping to destroy himself to the point of no return. The product of decades of rigorous training poured out of his soul in a matter of seconds. It had been a sacrifice, and Killua knew no matter how hard Gon trained, with or without Nen, he would never be able to achieve that kind of power again, would never be able to hone his body to look like that. It had been part of his stupid sacrifice, and at the time Killua knew he had been prepared to die, that he didn’t see any consequence in losing his potential and his future if he was six feet under. He gave that possibility up, and Killua speculated that Gon would most likely resemble his father in the very end. Killua is slightly grateful, because if Gon had been capable of looking like _that_ man – who had not been his Gon, with bulging muscles and dead eyes streaming with such anguished tears – again, he didn’t think he could’ve handled it. He does not mourn Gon’s loss as much as he knows he should.)

The two years he spent with Gon had shown them both growing at a relatively same rate. The year he spent with Alluka showed both their growth as well, though she still brushed his shoulder. Would Gon be like her? Larger than _him_? That had him wrinkling his nose, and he instructed Alluka to stand on the chair of their hotel room and measure him against the wall.

. . .

Gon was easy to spot, even without the familiar aura flaring around him. Killua spotted him first; he always did, and probably always will. But Gon had smelled him first, said that that aspect hadn’t changed, and had promptly bolted towards him like a wild rabid animal with a grin so wide it looked painful.

Barrel crashed into his body like a maniac, and not even Killua’s assassin training could stop their fall onto the concrete road of the train stop (he did end up stopping their fall, because he was an assassin, and a Zoldyck one at that).

“Killua!” Gon chanted happily, arms tightening around his shoulders and he pressed them close, making up for all the time spent apart. Gon felt familiar in his arms, solid and warm, and he hugged back just as tight.

They separated (still close enough to feel real) and Killua gestured to Alluka, who had politely stood to the side and smiled at the exchange.

The first thing Gon did was gape.

Because Alluka was only an inch away from evening out the difference in their height.

“A-Alluka? How!? I mean, hello, _hi_ , Alluka, I’m so happy to see you.” He stuttered, going over to give her a hug too, which she happily reciprocated. “But seriously! And Killua! You said you didn’t think you grew!”

“I wasn’t lying.” Killua admitted, though he smirked. Once again, he thanked his Zoldyck genes.

“But. How have you not noticed! _Damn_ , I was _so_ looking forward to boasting about my growth spurt.”

And then Killua laughed.

See, everyone had expected their reunion to be an awkward throwing of words and cautious approaches, tiptoeing around the heavy subject of sad feelings. But this was Gon and Killua. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

. . .

It had been a month.

They were still in Yorknew, deciding that they would settle down to solidify their arrangements in an unhurried matter because they had all the time in the world at their feet.

Gon asked, softly and so unlike himself, if he could join him and his sister. He told Killua he wouldn’t be a burden, and that he would start his nen training again. That he’d be less selfish and more thoughtful and--

“ _Ow_ , Killua, that _hurt_.”

“Then shut up, dumbass. If you hadn’t asked to join us I would have stabbed you.”

And Gon positively beamed.

. . .

Killua didn’t tiptoe around issues. It wasn’t like he wanted to, but even if he did, he didn’t have the luxury. He didn’t have many people he cared about, and he could count the number of people who held his heart on two fingers (three fingers). No one was looking after them, no one was there to assure them that everything was going to be alright, no one bothered waiting for them to catch their breath and catch their feet. They were teenagers, acted like teenagers should because at thirteen they had been forced to grow up too fast and too twisted and no one had bothered to stop them. This is how Killua viewed it. He had to look out for himself, watch his own back and the backs of those he cared about, and he knew that they were doing the same.

He didn’t have the luxury to tiptoe around the grey cloud simmering in his stomach whenever Gon cast him a sad look, and Gon didn’t either. They say if you’re close enough with someone that you can begin to read them as if you share a mind. They weren’t wrong, per say, but Gon only had one braincell, and it was always a hassle to chase it around his large, empty head.

But when Killua approached Gon one evening, while the three of them were camping out near the forest's edge, he saw how Gon sat, how he stared at the stars, and knew he was thinking the same thing.

“Where’s Alluka?” Gon asked as Killua settled down next to him, an arm’s length away. It wasn’t a distraction, but a mere curiosity that stemmed from the built protectiveness Gon developed for his sister, viewing her as his own sister too.

(He remembers when they properly introduced Nanika, who had so badly wanted to talk to Gon after hearing so many stories from Killua. The two Zoldycks had explained that though Nanika was kind of strange and eerie, she was first and foremost kind. When Alluka let Nanika out, the first thing Gon did was hug her.)

“She’s taking a bath in the lake right now, and kicked me out.”

Gon laughed.

“She’s growing up now; I don’t blame her.” Oh right, because his little sister was steadily growing too. Ever since Gon joined them six months ago, Alluka insisted on training alongside them as Gon worked himself into the ground trying to rediscover his Nen. When Killua conceded (after much pleading on Alluka’s part) she went with Gon for his morning jogs, did push-ups and sit-ups with him, meditated for hours in the sun with him.

(He remembers the day she found her Nen. They had been meditating, and the slow stream of essence flowing from her pores didn’t go unnoticed by him. They had celebrated that night with juice boxes and candy, and while Alluka beamed with pride, he had stolen a glance at Gon, expecting to see a look of loss and jealousy on his face. He had been pleasantly surprised when all he was met with was unadulterated joy.)

The sky looked like that of Whale Island’s, the one they slept under all those years ago (back when being a child didn’t mean being a burden, didn’t mean having to be forced to grow up). The stars shone, and they reminded him of Gon’s freckles. An absurd thought that left him feeling giddy. (He still wanted to draw his thumb across the bridge of Gon’s nose to see if he could transfer those stars onto his pale pale skin.)

It was quiet, whispered breeze barely brushing against their skin and making the leaves twitch, _barely_ there yet all at once filling the space. Killua took to staring at the sky, as there was no fire tonight to cloud his vision, and he sensed more than he saw Gon slowly put together what he wanted to say next. Killua gave him time, because tonight they had plenty of it.

“I’m sorry.” He finally whispered, drawing his knees to his chest. Killua raised one leg to prop his elbow on, hand falling limply as he stared.

“Gon—"

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you—”

“No, Killua, please,” A deep breath, “Just _listen_.”

Killua’s mouth clamped shut, and he listened.

Gon inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, before turning to stare at the sky.

“I know you already know, and that I already said it, but I don’t think you _get it._ ” Gon had told him to listen, so he clenched his jaw tightly to prevent himself from speaking. “I’m so _sorry_ Killua, you have no idea how sorry I am. You told me not to blame myself, but I don’t think you know just how much I hurt you.

“I knew you didn’t trust easy, I _knew_ how much you cared about me. If I had stopped to think about how you feel I never would have done any of _that._ I hurt my best friend; I was no better than your family. I made my decision without even thinking about you, made you see me at my worst, forced you to clean my mess while you were _hurting_.”

Gon told him to _listen._

He had wanted Gon to apologize. When he had carried his body – a frail thing that couldn’t have been his best friend, was too pale and thin and sickly and _dead_ – and had been forced to watch him be put on life support. He had felt so… helpless. Weak. He remembered when they had failed to defeat Knuckle and Shoot, when Gon had cried about feeling useless. He _got_ it. He _understood._ He watched through a glass wall as Gon’s heartbeat measured out like the static of his Nen, unsteady and barely there. He had been hurt, hurt deep down that Gon decided Killua wasn’t worth staying around for. He had no connection to Kite, who Gon had barely met and had decided _he_ was worth dying for instead.

Killua had been willing to sacrifice his hands for Gon, before he knew that he didn’t (and shouldn’t) need to cut away at his own body for his friend. He had been willing to die _with_ him, because in his eyes Gon was everything; a light, someone he had to prove himself to, someone who was perfect and untainted and unbreakable. Strong.

(Maybe that’s where Killua went wrong in the first place.)

He had _wanted_ Gon to apologize. Apologize for making him clean up after him every single time. He told himself he wasn’t going to let it slide. But he saw how he messed up himself. How could he pin the blame solely on Gon? When he had royally screwed up as well.

They had been fourteen. No one should have gone what they’d gone through at that age.

“But that’s not even the worst part, ya’ know.” Gon continued, sniffing lightly and averting his eyes.

“It isn’t. The worst part is that I _know_ you never held it against me for leaving you.” Gon knew him too well, “You forgave me, even when you wanted me to apologize. You didn’t really care for an apology, did you? You just wanted me to learn from my mistake. You had already forgiven me… hell, you never hated me for _any_ of it! Not even for a _second_! You’re so _selfless_ it hurts sometimes, ya’ know, thinking about how much _I hurt you_. You trusted me and I hurt you. I should’ve asked you to fight Pitou. I should’ve treated you the way you deserved.

“I’m sorry, Killua. I need you to listen. _I’m sorry._ I’m _sorry_ for pushing you away, sorry for turning my back on you, for giving up _everything_ without considering you at all. Are you _listening_? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry _I’m sorry_ —”

“I’m sorry too!”

He had listened, he had, and now he wanted to _talk._

“Killua—”

“Nope, my turn. _Listen_.” And Gon shut his mouth with a soft click.

Because his time with Alluka gave him time to think. He wanted so badly to blame it on Gon, he did, in fact, at one point. But he knew that wasn’t true. He knew. He wasn’t selfless. He wanted Gon to learn from his mistakes, but how hypocritical of him would that be if he didn’t learn from his own?

“I know you’re sorry, and I _know_ you want me to resent you, but the fact of the matter is that I could never. You were my best friend, you still _are._ I’ll continue to clean up after you because that’s what friends do. I just wanted you to understand. I could never hate you, and if I did, I would be the worst person in the world.”

A deep breath.

“You hurt me so much. You know this. Did you know I was ready to die _with_ you? And you and your stupid ass went on and decided to do it yourself. You want me to call you selfish? I would, you know, I would if it was _true.”_

Amber eyes snapped up to his, and they were suspiciously wet. Killua ignored the prickling heat in the back of his own eyes.

“I’m sorry too. I’m so damn sorry Gon. I put you up on a pedestal, you know? I thought you were like a light, I thought you were the greatest fucking human being out there. I raised you up to a level where you were _everything_ in my mind.”

“Killua, how is that something to be sorry for? If anything, I let you down.”

“Because I did exactly what everyone else did!” _That_ shut him up, and Killua took the silence as a means to continue. “I hated it, when people forced you to take a role your dad left behind. I thought it was so unfair, because no one treated you like a kid, like you were a person who had feelings too. They always underestimated you, and when you proved them wrong they put you on a pedestal, and because of that you believed that everything was your responsibility, that everything was your fault. That you _couldn’t_ be hurt or make mistakes.

“I _hated it_ , and yet I did the same exact thing. I stopped seeing you as someone with faults.”

“That’s not _your_ fault. That’s not a bad thing.” Gon pointed out, but he was already shaking his head.

“If I had just stopped to think, I would’ve seen you hurting. You never ask for help, because you’re an idiot, but deep down I forced myself to believe that you were immune to pain. I was so caught up in deciding if I was worthy of being your friend that I forgot that you’re not someone worthy either. You’re not a light, or a hero.

You were fucking _twelve_.”

And then Gon was hugging him, arms wounding under his and fingers digging into his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around Gon’s waist, bringing the other to hold his neck and burying his face into Gon’s hair because he didn’t want Gon to see him cry. But he knew that Gon knew, just like he always did.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Killua choked out through clenched teeth, and he distantly heard Gon sniffle.

“Me too.”

“Listen, Gon; the reason I never hated you was that you were hurting _too_ , and I never saw it. I didn’t see it, and I’m a terrible friend.” He clenched the fabric of Gon’s sweater. “I’m asking you to forgive me.”

“You call me a dumbass.” Gon muttered, a clogged sound that came out raspy like a bramble bush. “I never hated you either Killua. I’m sorry too. For making you clean up my mess.”

“I know.” Killua sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

When they settled back to look at the sky, their knees brushed against each other, and their shoulders knocked together, and something _right_ settled in the air.

. . .

“Onii-chan, did you guys talk?” Alluka asks when Killua comes to her tent to make sure she was all set up, knowing full well how good Alluka’s night vision is and being acutely aware of his red-rimmed eyes. He was no fool, and neither was his sister. They were Zoldycks.

“Yeah. He’s an idiot.”

“ _You’re_ the idiot.” She laughed, a soft giggling sound that resembled the annoying little elves in children's cartoons. He adored it.

“Oi, I’m your older brother, you can only call Gon an idiot.”

When Alluka didn’t respond he turned to find her picking at the blankets he had tossed over her sleeping bag (it was going to be cold; Gon had smelled it like the weirdo he was).

“What’s wrong?”

“Uhm, nothing really. I just,” Killua loved her eyes, a bright blue that never held any malice or anger or hate, a pure blue that shone with such kindness that it always left Killua a bit breathless, knowing this being with pale skin and a big heart was his little sister. He was so fucking proud.

“You can tell me, you know. Whatever is bothering you.” He coaxed as gently as he could, and it seemed to do the trick no matter how old Alluka ended up growing.

“Well, it’s just that, Gon’s been so kind to us, and he cares. I can see it, Nanika _loves_ him for it. He _hugged_ her; you know. The only person that’s ever hugged her is you. And he,” she giggled softly, “He made us flower crowns the other day, and asked for my favorite flower. He asked twice, and I was so confused, because I already told him.

“Turns out he was asking Nanika, and I started crying. And he just hugged me and told me I was special. And I _felt_ special too. Is this how it felt like, to travel with him?” She looked up to Killua with big round eyes, and Killua huffed a small breath because, yeah, that was exactly how it felt.

“He’s an idiot.” He ends up saying, knowing that Alluka knows what he means. She was no fool.

“He told me how he doesn’t have any siblings, but that if he ever did he would want them to be like me. I think,” Alluka grinned down at her lap, running nimble fingers over the worn fabric, “If I were to have another brother, I would want them to be like him.”

The next morning, Gon woke up bright and early, sneaking out of their shared tent without waking up Killua (which was impossible because he still never slept, but he appreciated the sentiment). He fished before the sun rose, started the fire back up and cooked the meat while Killua took his time freshening up in the lake. By the time he got back, Alluka was helping boil some water, and after last night’s conversation he hid his Nen and spied over them from behind a tree.

“You slept alright, then? I know it was cold; I hogged all the blankets from Killua last night.” Gon laughed airily, earning a chuckle from Alluka.

“Yeah, I slept fine. It helped that I had the sleeping bag.”

“It’s nice, right! Mito-san was the one who gave it to me, but I’ve only used it a couple of times.”

“Oh yeah, it was great! So soft and thick; it took me forever to get out of it.” She joked, and Gon laughed again.

Silence fell upon them, an easy thing with no rush to fill it, and Killua shuffled his feet with the intention of joining them when Alluka spoke up again.

“Hey, Gon-nii-san, how long should I keep the pot over the fire?”

Gon snapped his head up, and though Killua couldn’t see his face, knew there was a look of pure shock on there from the way he dropped one of the spears he was working on. Alluka shifted, nervous but not backing down, and when Gon stood up to even out their eye-level, Killua was worried that she broke him.

Instead he laughed, loudly and full of light, and then squatted down beside her to instruct her, and he didn’t miss the way he pet her head in gratitude.

. . .

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t.

(It’s been two years since their reunion. Two years of endless smiles, jokes, laughs, extraordinary sights, training, visiting friends, discovering and rediscovering, and Killua loved every second of it.)

(Except _this_.)

They had encountered almost all their old friends, staying with them for a few days to catch up. He had never expected to run into _Hisoka,_ of all people. He had almost forgotten about him (blissfully too).

He was still the same, tall, broad across the shoulders and dangerously narrow by the waste. His eyes were still slanted in a way that reminded him of Milluki and his smirk was still as infuriating as ever.

“My my, I never thought I’d see you after all this time.”

They were in a restaurant, a fucking _restaurant_. And he was standing there, in his dainty clown glory while they enjoyed (or, were _enjoying_ ) their last meal in the city before heading to Heaven’s Arena.

“I never would have wanted to, asshole,” Killua grumbled around his spoonful of soup, earning an indigent swat in the shoulder from Alluka.

“Oh, Hisoka. I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Hm, well, this certainly is a pleasant coincidence.”

Pleasant coincidence his _ass._

“What’re you doing here?” Gon asked, cocking his head. At least Hisoka was keeping his eyes up, and that was probably the only reason why Killua hadn’t zapped him on the spot.

“Oh, you know,” he flicked his wrist this way and that, “doing this and that. I had business here.”

“Oh, really? You’re taking Hunter jobs now?”

“You could say that.” He hummed, and Killua narrowed his eyes at him. The fucker couldn’t be trusted, he knew, even after all these years.

“Oh, Gon, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he voice grated at Killua’s ears, and he chewed on the straw of his chocolate milk, “have you been able to use Nen again?”

It was deafening, the silence that followed. Alluka shifted beside him, suddenly nervous, and Gon merely blinked up at the man who, in Killua’s eyes, was a weirdo in every worst possible way.

Gon tipped his head, amber eyes glinting in the setting sunlight streaming through the window. He looked contemplative; lips pursed around his straw as he sipped thoughtfully. He didn’t _look_ bothered, and Killua forced himself to loosen tense muscles, slumping his shoulders to rest his elbows on the table.

“No, I can't feel my aura at all. I don't know if it's because my nodes or closed or," _or if it's because there's no aura left,_ goes unsaid, but everyone hears it. "Killua’s helping me out, though,” he nodded to him, a small smile on his lips, and Killua huffed, feeling cherry crimson coat his cheeks.

“What a pity.” Hisoka drawled, drawing a long finger up to tap at his pointed chin, slowly and measured like he did everything else. “Can I offer a proposal then?”

“What do you mean?"

He bent by the waist, eyeing the teen on a closer level as a large smirk spread over pale lips. 

“I can attempt to unblock your nodes using my Nen.” He smiled, all coy and snake-like, “we would be able to see if you really do have any Nen left, and if you do, you could start training immediately.”

Gon’s eyes widened, much like his own, and Alluka stifled a gasp.

Wing had done it for them, sure, but that was because they simply hadn’t had the time to slowly approach a more natural method of learning Nen. Hisoka was all claws and teeth and smiles that curled too much at the corners and eyes that glinted too unkindly for Killua’s comfort. Gon had told him no, once, when Killua had offered to do the very same thing.

_“I think, the point of learning Nen from scratch is that if it even works, I'll end up caring more. I think I was given too much power for a twelve-year-old. I was stupid. I’m still stupid.”_

“Ah, I’ll have to decline.” Gon started, sheepishly but not unconfident. “I want to learn from scratch.”

 _I want to see if I have anything left in me on my own terms,_ goes unsaid, but Killua hears it.

Hisoka stared, seemingly unsurprised, as if he predicted the outcome of this whole exchange before he even approached them. Alluka took a bite of her sandwich, Killua sipped his milk, and Gon offered the creep a genuine, much kinder smile.

“Thank you for the offer.”

Hisoka shrugged, that strange spark shrivelling up in his eyes as he became disinterested.

“Suit yourself.”

And then he was making his way out of the shop, heading towards a tall figure with dark hair that Killua didn’t stare too hard at, and the tension broke with Alluka’s soft laughter at Gon’s relieved sigh.

“Man, I still hate him.” He muttered, sneering into his empty cup and waving down a waitress for another one.

“Meh, I don’t trust him, but I don’t dislike him.”

“That’s because you don’t dislike anybody.”

“And you dislike everybody.”

“Touché.”

. . .

Killua knows it’s impossible for him to have nightmares, but he finds that _day_ mares are equally as terrible.

Sometimes he catches himself staring at nothing and letting his mind run behind his eyes faster than he can stop it, helplessly watching as it plays images for him that he _knows_ aren’t there yet can’t fight the shivers wracking his spine at seeing them.

There’s Illumi, forever a fish-eyed demon lingering in his consciousness even after he ripped the needle out of his forehead all those years ago. He feels his stare, his spider-like fingers playing with strings attached to his limbs. He watches him walk towards a door where someone precious to him is healing, needles between those very same fingers, sharp and precise in a way he could never be.

Killua doesn’t resent his eldest brother for what he did to him. He probably never will, because he can’t resent the strength he feels when he curls his fingers into a fist and uses that very same power to protect those he loves. He can’t, and he’s glad he’s not conflicted. Illumi’s actions, as well as the actions his family took to make him strong, will never make him feel anything but gratitude for what he is today.

(But what they did to Alluka; the way they treated her and hurt her and made her doubt her worth, made her feel like a burden. He would kill every single one of them if they ever looked at her the wrong way again. Killua could let whatever his family did to him slide, but when it came to Alluka? He would rather let the world burn than have to see her cry again.)

His family's words, however, were trickier to reason with. _He can’t have friends_. He can’t have a choice. His hands were made for killing. _Nothing else. Nothing else_. If you grip Alluka’s hand too hard you’ll break it. If you hug Gon too tight you’ll snap him. _If you stare too much they’ll disappear, and you’ll be left with nothing._

He doesn’t like these thoughts swirling in his head, but he can’t hate them either. He’s so damn tired of hating, of feeling so much uncapped rage coursing through his veins when something small tickles his pride. He’s tired of doubting and redoubting his life, his thoughts. Everything. He wants to be loose, be free, and so he lets these thoughts swirl to their content until they merge, wither, and die in his palms. He’s strong, stronger than most, and he’s only seventeen. He may not be stronger than Illumi, but he’s strong in ways he’s _proud_ of.

(Sometimes, though, he catches himself wondering if one day he’ll wake up and be twelve all over again, in a damp room with Illumi trying to kill him. That this was all a thin dream he forced himself into, to cope with being lonely, with being strong by himself. Then he takes one look at Alluka ruffling Gon’s hair from where she surpassed his height, the way their eyes gleam when they gesture for him to see something cool, and he thinks that his mind could never have conjured something so warm.)

. . .

They are in some small town just outside of Yorknew; a day’s trip from where Leorio is staying. It’s cold here, grey clouds spitting out snowflakes in a soft flurry of directionless chaos. It isn’t windy enough to be counted as a storm, but it’s still snow, and it’s still cold.

He’s already swam through frigid lakes as a child, accustomed to the near-death freezing point of his body that this snowfall seems like child’s play. He still puts on a jacket for Alluka’s sanity, and forces one on Gon for his own sanity and also because this is the first time Gon has ever seen snow before.

Typical tropical island kid.

Alluka has seen snow once before, when they were making their way north for a small mission Killua accepted so they wouldn’t be _completely_ broke. Growing up on a mountain, snow wasn’t an uncommon occurrence during the winter seasons, but Alluka hadn’t been outside that mansion in… a very long time.

Gon once told Killua that the winter season on Whale Island meant dry air and warm winds slightly cooler than their summer ones. When he first spotted the white flakes drifted down, he plastered himself to the window, his breath fogging up before his eyes.

“Killua! What _is_ that?! Is this _snow_?” He screamed, like an excited little kid and not the teenager turning adult he was.

“Yes, moron. It’s snow.”

“Oh wow, can we go outside? It looks so fluffy.” He swooned, already dragging on his arm and yelling for Alluka to come down from the kitchen.

“You don’t even have a jacket.”

“Will it really be that cold?”

“It’s frozen water you idiot, of _course_ it’ll be cold.”

“I have a sweater!”

Absolute. Moron.

He found himself wrestling Gon fifteen minutes later into a second, much thicker sweater that was actually Killua’s. But Gon only owned t-shirts and raincoats, his "sweater" being one from Whale Island and therefor warm enough to walk through a mild wind with.

“Killua, it can’t be _that_ cold.”

“It’s either this or you ‘getting sick.”

“I ate dirt as a kid, I don’t get sick. And what about you, huh? _You’re_ only wearing your hoodie. Here, how about _you_ wear this thing.” Gon suggested, already taking the second, much larger sweater off.

“No, _no,_ I think you’re forgetting that I’ve been through much worse.”

Gon doesn’t gape in awe when he mentioned his family anymore, probably because he met them and personally found them to be assholes, even if he didn’t say it. Still, the way Gon’s eyes glinted whenever Killua shamelessly boasted about his skills, made him feel light, because all of that training hadn’t been a waste of time in Gon’s eyes. That aspect has not changed, and he is grateful.

(Knuckle once muttered about what they would have had to go through to think the way they did. He knew the man was probably right; they were different. And he wasn’t sure if this was a bad thing exactly. He certainly was glad he wasn’t normal. It would’ve been too boring.)

This seemed to make Gon calm down enough to finally concede with the double layers, even if it meant he started whining around the scarf Killua wrapped around his neck (he ignored the way the shadow of dead fish-eyes told him that if he wound it tight enough he would _choke_ \--)

“There, now you can go.”

Gon cheered, whipping past Alluka, who was still trying to fix a hat over her head, opening the door with such vigor the owner of the cabin was sure to have complaints about the hinges being damaged. He raced outside, Alluka at his heels and leaving Killua to close the door behind them.

He immediately stared directly up, hands Killua had stuffed into a pair of oven mitts raising over his head as he took in his first snowfall. He laughed, an airy thing that sounded slightly breathless, and when Gon turned to him with his signature painfully wide smile, Killua grabbed a handful of the shallow layer settling onto the ground with a grin.

Just like they did everything, the snowball fight he initiated was aggressive. He refrained from utilizing his Nen because Gon said it would be unfair, but that didn’t make his precision any less accurate. He smashed a particularly large one in Gon’s face, and in retaliation he got a handful of snow dumped inside his sweater, dripping cold cold cold down his back.

Alluka’s hair was a mess of snow and tangles, cheeks painted over with a rosy hue and nose a bright crimson. He knew he wasn’t fairing any better, and he _knew_ from the way his numb face felt that he was resembling a tomato. Though this wouldn’t have stopped him (he’s been through worse), what _did_ stop him was when Alluka started sneezing and Gon couldn’t say two words out loud without chattering his teeth and wouldn’t stop shaking. Typical tropical island child.

“It is. So cold. I can’t. Feel. My _face_.” Gon huffed later, squinting against the wave of warmth around them. Despite being through worse, Killua’s eyes still water.

“I told you. _I told you_. Don’t give me that look, I was right, and now you know.” Killua gloated while Gon gave a Look through the thin gap between the blankets he was currently drowning in. Killua nudged him with his knee, demanding space within the warm confines while Alluka hogged the heater upstairs in front of the TV.

“Nu uh. You’re being. A _meany_.” Gon whined, drawing his cocoon closer while Killua dug his toes in the small crevice beneath his leg.

“No, _you_ are an idiot.” He countered, successfully squeezing his feet in and relishing in the contrast between his skin and the warmth of the blankets.

Gon glanced at him, pouting like a fool, but ended up sighing and opening up one arm, which Killua took over and slung half of the blankets over his shoulder, squeezing in place beside the other teen. It was warm, and it was daytime, which meant Gon still ran like a radiator beside him, teeth _still_ clattering together in bursts of mini shivers that ran up his arms. Killua didn’t shiver, was trained to hold still to the point where it became second nature, but enjoyed the warmth, nonetheless.

“If I. Get _sick_. I’m blaming you. And then. I’ll get _you_. Sick too.”

“I don’t get sick. And I thought you ate dirt as a kid.”

“I ate dirt, not snow.”

Killua laughed.

. . .

Kurapika was as weary as when they had last seen him. Still had dark bruises under his eyes that Killua swore were permanent at this point. He was shorter than him now, much to his chagrin, but took liberality in making fun of Gon instead, because he was still taller. Taller, but thinner, like a breeze could blow him away.

Gon was more solid, but Kurapika still felt real under his arms when he hugged him.

It had been five years since he saw him.

He grew his hair out, much like Killua did, except longer. Long enough that it curled into a comfortable messy bun at the base of his skull, stray hairs framing his forever tired features. His eyes flashed red, and for the first time Killua thought they flashed for a strong feeling other than rage.

“Killua,” he nodded when he broke their embrace, moving to Gon, “Gon, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too!” Gon exclaimed in his shoulder, vibrating in their embrace, and Kurapika laughed lightly, shoulders shaking and bouncing against Gon’s chin.

“Where’s the old man?” Killua asked, looking around the apartment. It was a decent place, for the two to live in. Leorio’s work had him travelling around, being a licensed Hunter medic (or whatever his official title was), and once Kurapika had gotten his shit together and released his constant need for revenge, he joined him. Killua would never admit it out loud, but he was glad those two were alright.

“Oh, he’s at the clinic right now. He should be back any minute.” An amused glint in his eyes had Killua smirking, “He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

“Nope.” Gon laughed, prolonging his vowel with a cheeky grin. Killua introduced his little sister, who despite being larger than Kurapika (though it wasn’t hard, considering how slight he was) happily melted down to shake his offered hand.

Kurapika gave them juice (“no alcohol, absolutely none, I hate it,”) and offered small snacks while they caught up, waiting for Leorio to return so they could break their surprise news. Kurapika was still as fond of them as they remembered, his eyes soft as they talked and a small smile seemingly as permanent as the smudges beneath his eyes.

The door creaked open sometime later, and everyone quieted, snapping their heads towards the sound. Gon was practically jumping in his seat, and Killua pinched his thigh to get him to sit (somewhat) still.

He saw Killua first, and Killua offered a wave.

“Yo.”

(Leorio started crying.)

Leorio was every bit angles and limbs as Killua remembered, still longer than him (for now) and _every_ bit as emotional as he was years prior. It was a relief to see his personality untouched by time.

Gon had rushed forward, jumping up to hook his arms and legs around the man’s body like a damn monkey and effectively crush his torso in a hug. And Leorio, equally an idiot, laughed wetly and squeezed back, screaming about how they should’ve warned him they were coming and how he was going to beat their asses once he got his tears under control.

Before Killua could evade, he captured him in a hug too, and for a moment he allowed it. This was his family. He chose them and he was glad. _Fuck_ Illumi, he was _happy._ Truly happy, with no shadows lingering in his heart.

Leorio calmed down enough to let them go and began talking in rapid succession, as if to fill the numerous years they spent apart.

“It’s nice to see you guys are alive.” He joked, eyes still shining but otherwise dry. He still had those ridiculous glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose, the ones Killua always wondered about how they never fell off.

“Give us more credit, old man,” Killua drawled, hooking his arm over the back of the sofa and around Alluka’s head (Leorio already adored her, had given her a cookie and not Killua; how rude), the other resting in his pocket. Gon sat by Kurapika, while Leorio came from the kitchen to collapse on Killua’s other side.

“Oi, I’m only a few years older. Look at yourself,” He scoffed in return, folding a leg over the other and interlocking his fingers behind his head, his shoulders popping in retaliation. Kurapika and Gon winced, and Killua was tempted to start cracking his own joints just to garner more of that disgusted reaction.

“And still single. What a shame,” He joked, thinking the elbow Alluka gave him to the ribs was worth the look on Leorio’s face.

“Big talk coming from you. And I’ve been busy, travelling around and such.” He waved a hand lazily.

“Oh! That’s actually why we came here!” Gon started, effectively drawing all eyes towards him. He grinned widely, all teeth and no shame, bunching up his cheeks and showing off dimples creviced within freckled skin. “You want to go on an adventure?”

(Leorio started crying again.)

. . .

They were definitely lost. Definitely.

He didn’t know whose idea it was to give Gon the map (they thought since he was the tropical island child he was, that he would also be good at navigating through unfamiliar territory through a piece of parchment), but he hoped they (Leorio) were regretting their decisions because they were oh so hopelessly lost.

“I think we’ve passed this tree before.” Gon sighed, twisting the map again in a vain attempt to find out where the _fuck_ they were.

“You _think_?”

“It smells familiar.”

At this point no one questioned it, but he saw Leorio crumple a little (he had been the one to give Gon the map, so serves him right).

Alluka leaned her weight on one leg, the alabaster skin of her toned stomach and arms rippling as she raised an arm to shield her vision from the speckled sunlight filtering through the leaves and straight into her eyes. (Gon had convinced him, a year prior, that Alluka should go and train with Bisky; that she was a growing girl who needed the guidance of an older woman rather than two unstable and unhinged young boys. Killua was adamant, but saw the hope glistening in his little sister’s eyes, and he complied. During the six months Alluka spent with Bisky, Gon and Killua took more difficult hunter jobs that they previously couldn’t. They fooled around; became the careless twelve-year-old selves they were forced to abandon. They had _fun_.

And when Alluka finally came back, lean muscles coating her limbs and newfound strength in her tall frame, Killua thought he never felt more proud.)

Kurapika sighed, squatting down to bury his face in his hands. His hair, which had been tied in a low ponytail, fell over one shoulder as he silently sunk into dismay. Beside him, Leorio was walking around in crooked circles muttering to himself, ridiculous glasses skewed slightly to the right as he rubbed his chin.

Killua’s gaze fell back to Gon, (as it always did), and watched as he slowly blinked at the map, a sheepish and guilty expression crawling on his face when he realized that it was, in fact, upside down. Watched how he stuck his tongue out when Leorio started yelling at him, or how he bowed by the waist to apologize to Kurapika, who had sunk further between his knees. Alluka planted her palm on her forehead in exasperation, and Killua laughed.

The sun streaming through the leaves dotted Gon’s face, revealing stark freckles in blotches of lit caramel skin. His smile was still painfully wide, unaltered joy present through pearly whites even as Kurapika began pulling his ear.

When Gon hooked his warm finger with Killua’s to drag him over for a tree-climbing contest (he won), he was reminded of a time, forever engraved in his mind like a cherished memory (it was) of a small boy with frigid fingers that he warmed between his own warm hands in a small bed on a small island, cold cold toes pressed against his shins.

Contrary to popular belief, Killua’s heart wasn’t as cold as Gon’s toes when the sun set, nor was his hair as soft as Gon despite both of them appearing the opposite (Gon had been surprised, had told Killua his hair felt rough like calloused socks or the material of a worn sweater. Killua had also been surprised, that those spikey tufts of hair melted at his touch and were silky, much softer than he had anticipated, and it just goes to show how you can never judge people by their appearances and that you can never truly _see_ someone until you _truly understand_ them). He found that not everything can be perceived as they are seen, and that sometimes all he had to do to escape from a clogging throat and burning eyes was to look at Gon – his best friend even after all this time – and simply talk to him. Because there was no such thing as sharing space with Gon Freeccs, and for this he was still grateful.

(And on quiet nights when Gon couldn’t keep his mind clear and his breathing became ragged Killua would stay awake with him, talking about everything and nothing, the same way Gon exists, and finds himself holding Gon’s heart in his hands.

He’s never carried a better burden.)


	2. lay your fingers down like a net

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gon feels too full of something and Killua feels empty with nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uuuuh

Gon had a lot of anger in storage.

It wasn’t that he was angry all the time. He would’ve exhausted his storage a long time ago if that had been the case.

His anger was bottled up very loosely, the lid teetering on the edge of collapse. A small breeze could’ve knocked it over. (It was a precarious way of living, not being angry all the time but having that burning passion of negativity brimming so close to the edge, ready to spill at a moment’s notice.)

But despite what people think, Gon’s anger isn’t a wild, uncoordinated thing.

Well, it was wild in a way that made wild seem dangerous, unpredictable yet cunning. Like it was thinking. Wild, and controlled.

(Until, of course, he lost control of it.)

It had a system.

Gon does not get angry at bad people.

Bad people, as terrible in their actions as they were, weren’t _really_ bad. In the present moment their actions were classified as bad, but it was always based on something from the past. Few people were bad for the sake of being bad.

In the past they could have passed as good people. Presently, they are bad people. It was like seeing two different sets of the same person. And so Gon does not get angry with them because even though they are two separate entities, the good person in the past and the bad person in the present are still a set. Being angry with one would mean being angry with the other, and it would be unfair to get angry with someone who, in the past, had been good.

There are actions that he can bypass as unimportant because of this. You hurt someone? Well, who knows what you have going on, so not my business. You killed someone? Ulterior motives aside, my best friend is an assassin, so none of my business as to what you do as a job. Stealing? If you’re starving I can’t tell, but it’s really not in my interest to stop you.

Betray your friends? Hurt _his_ friends? That’s where you cross the line, and the lid to his teetering bottle collapses.

. . .

Gon’s body is soft, too soft. It is too easy to break his skin and make him bleed, too easy to pierce his flesh, to strip him down until all he can perceive is the burning fire simmering against his nerves, lighting up his body and making his mind sharpen everything until it was all he could think of. He was too soft, his body too weak, and his being too gentle to be holding such a crooked heart.

It was too cold, too wickedly twisted and unhinged, unable to swallow emotions normal people should be capable of handling. It’s missing pieces of what makes someone human; lacking vital knowledge like fear and caution and empathy.

And then there’s the exact opposite of him and his tainted blotchy heart; there is Killua. Killua and his cold exterior, iron-hard skin and sharp sharp eyes that pierce through most. His body is unbreakable, a product of years of rigorous training and hardships and accomplishments rolled into ash-white skin and metallic blue eyes.

Yet his heart is soft, softer than most. It does not have holes, like Gon’s, rather it was forced to block certain aspects that he already had. He pushed back fear and caution and love and empathy. But deep down Killua owned all these emotions, and mastered them once he was set free, and morphed into something beautiful hidden beneath dangerous skin.

Sometimes he thinks he deserves being incomplete. Thinks that his upbringing on Whale Island had lied to him, had sheltered him too much, and he somehow finds himself thinking of how he might have ended up had Ging stayed, had taught Gon a healthy dose of fear and molded empathy into his heart. It would have saved him from many regrets, but he does not blame Ging, nor does he blame Whale Island.

He is the product of too much strength and too much loneliness. Mito-san was (and still is) a blessing, but she had been too young, too inexperienced to have raised a child. She gave him love and freedom, but somewhere along the lines of his aunt needing to work for money and Abe being too old to count on as company, he finds himself looking back at twelve years of loneliness, being the strongest little boy all by himself.

Mito-san taught him to be kind and honest. The forest taught him that there is no forgiveness if you are caught by something more powerful, so become the strongest. The ocean taught him how if you’re caught under the swell of a powerful wave, the waters will not empathize for you and slow their current, rather it will rage on and drag you under.

The cliff sides taught him that there will always be a higher peak to jump from, and if he hesitated even once he would fail to realize the rush, so jump off without a thought. 

Ging, through his absence, forced rather than taught Gon to understand that he had to prove his worth by his fists, and discard trying to fill the holes in his heart in exchange for making his punch stronger. He did not have the luxury to give up, because if he did, his work on proving his worth would diminish, and the rest of the world would swallow him up.

He thinks his upbringing is full of holes too; holes he filled with nothing (because there was nothing to fill them with), and though he wouldn’t trade Mito-san for the world (she taught him how to read, how to write, how to speak, how to smile, how to hug and laugh and she taught him, though indirectly, that hard work is rewarded, how even as she worked all day at the port to earn money for an abandoned family at a young age where she should’ve been laughing and having fun, she still shone brightly enough for Gon. He is grateful.) he still _thinks_.

Thinks: about how he might have turned out a bit better if he had had a friend.

. . .

Gon sees the world like this; black and white and left and right. Everything fits on a side, because if they are stripped down to the bare essentials, to the raw emotions people harbour deep deep down where it counts the most, you can tell if they are just that; left or right or right or wrong.

That is how the world works, after all. Predators in the forest don’t have turmoil, don’t have conflicts strong enough to break the natural cause of this division in Gon’s eyes. And when he moved off his tiny island home he took his black and white vision with him.

. . .

Killua is his greatest greyscale, he’s beginning to realize.

He does not fit into left or right or right or wrong. His shade is too dark to fit with white, and too light to fit in black. He has too much blood on his hands and too many lives hanging off his back to be considered a good person. But his heart is soft, and he is kind, too kind for someone evil. Gon concludes he is neither, and it astonishes him that Killua could exist as someone who is neither good nor bad, who dances on a precarious ridge between two powerful forces and manages to stay upright, stay strong.

(He realizes later that no one is truly good or bad. He was the only person who had been wrong, who’s clouded vision did not let him see that people were much more than left or right. Killua is still his greatest greyscale, but he’s coloring everything in the same grey, making everything equal in tone and shade, and opening Gon’s eyes to a world which should never have been split to begin with.)

. . .

Though Leorio is a doctor who specializes in the physical body, his massive reservoir of empathy provides essential tools one needs to help someone who is hurting from something that cannot be seen or touched.

(It’s been five months since he’s seen Killua, and six hours since their last phone call. He’s still thrumming with the sound of Killua’s creaky floor-board laughter ringing in his ears, and he still finds himself smiling at his phone when he realizes that the _thing_ between him and his best friend isn’t tainted, nor is it broken or blotchy. It’s a strong _thing_ , something so real that it will not break no matter how much weight strains it.)

He is staying with him, Leorio, that is, while he lives in the outskirts of Yorknew continuing his schooling at the local hospital. He leaves early in the morning to work shifts as an assistant nurse and comes a little after sunset to cook dinner and study. Gon, for the most part, trains in the large mostly abandoned parking lot down the block, wandering around the city when he’s bored and asking about Leorio’s day when they sit to eat (that is, when he’s running away from his massive pile of homeschooling work).

Leorio tells him about his patients, his workload, his next exam, his gratitude for Gon staying with him (because Leorio is a people’s person. He gets lonelier than most, and Gon understands. There is no thanks needed. It’s a favor for both of them). He shovels food in his mouth most nights because he forgets the lunches Gon prepares in the mornings (simple sandwiches because Gon can’t cook anything that goes beyond grilling raw fish over a fire).

Tonight he is agitated. Gon can see it in the way Leorio’s shoulders are levelled, straight and rigid while the spoon in his hands is clenched in white fingers. (The soup is slightly burned at the bottom, with more charcoal in its scent than what it normally _should_ smell like. This is the biggest sign that Leorio wants to talk.)

“How was work?” Gon asks, feet finally being able to brush against the ground from his seat (he grew an inch last week). He swallows a spoonful of charred chicken soup and watches Leorio swallow thickly from across the table.

“This tastes like shit, Gon. You don’t have to pretend to like it.” He finally sighs, eating another mouthful nonetheless. Gon shrugs with a smile, because the weird taste is growing on him now, and he likes whatever Leorio cooks.

“I think it tastes fine.” He ends up speaking his mind, showing it by sipping his food while Leorio gives him a deadpanned look.

“Whatever. And to answer your question; it went like shit.”

(Leorio only ever called his work shit when he received a patient that should not have been there, whose consequential injury could have easily been avoided if other people had cared more.)

“What happened?”

And then Leorio went on to furrow his brow and give Gon a long stare, contemplative thoughts dancing behind his eyes as he assessed whether or not to explain just what he was so pissed off at. Eventually he sighed, seeming to make up his mind, and Gon found his curiosity growing when Leorio avoided eye contact and instead idly stirred his soup.

“There was a kid in today, a bit older than you.”

Gon hummed for him to continue.

“He got into a motorcycle accident.”

Gon hummed again.

When Leorio didn’t reply, Gon looked up to see his frown.

“Why is that something bad? Wait, no, I know _why_ it’s bad. But he’s alright, right?”

“Well, yes, he just fractured his wrist and bruised some ribs. He should be fine.

“But, well, when I called his parents after treating him, they didn’t pick up.”

“Were they busy?”

Leorio made a frustrated sound and dropped his spoon, choosing to lock his arms across his chest instead, perhaps to enclose his raging heart (because Leorio cared for others as much as he cared for himself, and his heart beat for more than one person).

“He doesn’t know his dad.”

Oh. 

Gon finds himself blinking, suddenly intrigued by this mystery child with a broken wrist and bruised ribs and a missing father (it sounds achingly familiar).

“I talked to him while the hospital went to physically contact his mother. I found out he was an unplanned pregnancy from a one-night stand, and the guy ran before she could press legal charges or demand help. She’s young, and foolish.”

Gon listens and listens, as Leorio talks, less cautious with each word he says until he’s spilling everything his too-big heart had to say and ending up too winded and upset to do the dishes. He apologized for exploding, and Gon felt himself nod and smile, promising his friend that he would clean up and that he should head to bed for the evening.

Later, Gon lays in bed and lets his mind numbly repeat everything Leorio told him, feeling his pulse thicken beneath his skin.

_“Cases like these are unfair. So fucking unfair. See, when children are born with two parents who have a healthy relationship, they build a sort of safety net for their kid. They set boundaries, and they watch over their children._

_And many kids like to test these boundaries, they feel sick of them sometimes too, but in reality it’s these very boundaries that keep them content, and feel loved and cared for. By pushing their parent’s buttons and seeing them get mad for causing a ruckus or getting into dangerous situations proves that they care, and that they’re watching. That they will be there as a net when their kid falls for real._

_But kids who don’t have that; whose parents don’t care about them or are too busy fighting with each other, they don’t build that safety net. They don’t have those boundaries. These kids end up throwing their well-being out the window trying to make their parents see them. Whether it be doing reckless things that get themselves hurt or distancing themselves to see if their parents care. And since the parents don’t, those children are left to fall without a net; free falling. And they get hurt. And they grow up twisted. And it’s not their fault. It’s just not fair.”_

For once, Gon thinks.

Thinks of Mito, who had been too too young, completely overwhelmed, unfortunately inexperienced and unready, whose busy lifestyle didn’t give her leeway to restrict Gon. Thinks of Ging, who in his absence gave Gon enough freedom that he began to drown in it. Thinks of the forest and how he remembers the trees better than his own kitchen, remembers the beaches better than his own bed.

He loves Mito-san, because she tried her best when she was still growing up too, and he is grateful to her (because who knows how he might’ve turned out had he not had her either). He loves the forest for making his strong, loves the beaches for showing his vast skies full of stars reflected off dark ocean waters. 

But he does not love the freedom as he once did, and he doesn't love his loneliness as he once thought he had.

. . .

He looks at Killua, who is inhumanly warm at night, and who lets Gon defrost his frozen toes between his shins. Whose laugh resembles a wheezing creaky door and yet floods Gon with happiness all the same. Whose hair is rough, like the worn fabric of a weathered sweater’s sleeve, and who rubs the very same textured strands against the sensitive skin of his ribs and makes him squeal.

Killua, whose skin flushes like cherry crimson watercolor of a sunset, painted with the elegant hand of an artist over ash-white skin, and who refuses Gon’s compliments with a wave of his hand. Who does not see just how wondrous of a heart he has.

His best friend who he doesn’t deserve yet somehow possesses anyway. He gives and gives and gives until the skin on his hands is all but gone and his bones are bent and his heart is broken. A heart that gives so much and takes so little.

Gon does not deserve him. Is it selfish, to hope that his own mangled beating muscle pumping anguish through his veins will somehow slow down to a calming ocean tempo if it's by the side of a heart like Killua’s? 

But then again, Killua isn’t a light either. 

His eyes assess people’s ability to fight before they assess their personalities. His fingers sharpen when danger is in the air and his words are as sharp as the knives embedded beneath his flesh. He is corded, has poison beneath his skin and blood on his hands. He is not aware of when people are hurting and his mind is too vulnerable, easily succumbing to doubt.

Faults. These were Killua’s faults. It’s what makes people human. It’s what made Killua human.

(Gon’s mind goes blank when he realizes that, if someone like him has as many faults as he knows he has, then that would make him human too, right? His chest aches at the thought, and his mangled beating muscle does a little flip. It’s hope, and it’s a start.)

. . .

Gon has grown to love Alluka. He was (and still is) an only child, on an island that had two other kids; one who left when Gon was three to pursue some University dream and one that was born a year before Gon left himself, for much more... extravagant dreams.

But he thinks that if he were to ever have a sibling, he would want them to be like Alluka.

She is kind, and she was caring. She was like Killua in many ways; from the big blue eyes to the bigger, kinder heart that gave so much and asked for little in return. But unlike her brother, she was much more open to happiness, was not as cautious as her brother, and looked at everything through a glass half full of water.

She is the product of years of neglect based on nameless fear (Nanika was as much, if not even more, kinder than her Zoldyck counterpart, and she was the opposite of something you should be afraid of). In a way Gon understands, because even though Gon had all the warmth and love in the world, he still couldn’t help but think of how, if he didn’t showcase why he’s worth keeping around, people will discard him because he is useless.

(He knows he’s not. He knows he knows he knows.)

He finds himself quickly replacing Alluka as ‘Killua’s sister’ to ‘my friend’, which easily slides into ‘my sister in all but blood that I would kill for but who’s asking for details?’, and when Gon shares this, Alluka laughs with her tinkling high-pitched sequel that reminds Gon of chattering sparrows. 

Gon talks to her, because Alluka has lived in a silence much denser than his own, and has learned in depth the importance of listening within that very quiet to hear what is truly important. It’s easier, sometimes, talking to her and having someone as kind and loving as Alluka simply listen. No judgement. No bias. No contortment of his words or misunderstandings. Just simply listening for what's important. Listens to _him._

He talks to Nanika too, whenever he gets the chance, and finds she isn’t quite like Alluka. She has lived in silence longer than her, but she was always alone. Her vocabulary isn’t very impressive and she’s so used to sharing her feelings with Alluka that talking about them out loud is difficult for her, but she manages. And as a result Gon is forced to shut his mouth and listen himself, has his ears open and mind at peace simply listening to the way Nanika carefully tastes new words Gon teaches her and adds them to her list of things to rattle to Killua later. He learns to listen, in a sense, and finds that listening isn’t actually that hard. All you had to do was pay attention.

And he feels pride for them too. When he witnesses Nanika talk uninterrupted but for a small stutter for half an hour, or utilizing new words correctly. Maybe this was what Mito-san felt when she taught him how to talk too? Albeit, he had probably been much more of a hassle and less than half as patient as Nanika, but pride he felt nonetheless. 

“Gon is kind.” She says one day, while they’re waiting for Killua to book tickets for their next train ride (Gon was officially not allowed to purchase tickets after he mixed up the order and ended up sending the three of them to a small town in the middle of the desert). 

Gon snaps his head to the side to look at her, gazing into black pits and feeling warm all over. She smiles, a wide, wobbly thing that has no end to its black black black, yet it is tender, kind in a way that only Nanika can be, and Gon fights back an aggressive onslaught of heat that forms in between his eyes and behind his nose.

“Gon is. Kind.” She tries again, hands donning long thin fingers reaching over to brush his own, and he slots their fingers together. She gives him another smile, somehow happier than the last, and Gon just chuckles because if he cries _now_ he’ll give Nanaika the wrong idea.

“I. Thanks. You are very kind too, Nanika.” He sniffs.

Nanika does not lie. Alluka doesn’t to a certain extent, but she’s still a mischievous child at heart, and little ‘slip ups’ from the truth aren’t too uncommon. But Nanika does not lie; whether this is because she doesn’t know the concept of concealing the truth or chooses not to, he doesn’t know.

But Nanika does not lie, and she called Gon kind.

When Killua questions Gon’s glassy eyes he blames it on a staring contest he lost with the ground.

. . .

Killua was his safety net.

Gon realized this, many months after Leorio had spilled his anger to him. The revelation came down on him like ice-cold water being dumped down his back. His spine straightens, his shoulders jerk up to cover his ears (from what, he doesn’t know) and Gon jolts out of his shock when he realizes he bit through the skin of his inner mouth, copper crimson flooding his tongue in a tangy scent.

Killua was _his_ … safety net?

That didn’t make sense though. Killua was his best friend, not his parental figure or babysitter. They were equals, they stood on even ground, and Gon would never again jump ahead and leave him behind (just like Killua promised never to let Gon fall without his aid, without cushioning his fall.)

Huh.

He thinks.

Thinks about what Leorio said, under yellow lights while eating charred soup. “ _By pushing their parents’ buttons and seeing them get mad for causing a ruckus or getting into dangerous situations proves that they care, and that they’re watching.”_

Gon tried to recall one of his many reckless endeavors, where numerous others berated him about being careful, of not knowing limits (he remembers, vividly, of how a looming man with gleaming eyes and bombs in his bloodstream told him how insane he is.) Where was his common sense? Why would he do something so stupid? Why risk his life over petty things and face the countless consequences for his actions?

He surprises himself, then, opening his eyes to face the ceiling of their latest hotel room. And it really shouldn't be, he reasons, because now that he thinks about it, it seems kind of obvious that his intentions of throwing his life on the line hadn’t been righteous, hadn’t been so that they could defeat the bad guy or do the right thing for others. He had had a simple reason. A stupid reason, but a simple one.

A selfish reason, but a simple one.

Because without fail, every time he got hurt or intentionally put himself in harm's way, he finds his eyes searching through the crowd of worried gazes, of worried hands trying to see if he was alright. He was searching for a pair of eyes that reminded him of storm underwater, of wild, violent waves rushing on the ocean's surface as he watches from below.

He is, of course, looking for Killua.

Of course, he’s looking for his reaction. And true to his nature, Killua never fails to reach his expectation, to come stomping over to him and hit him over the head before bandaging his wounds.

 _He’s watching me_ is the only thing that rings through his head, and he, without fail, always finds himself relieved. 

(Gon looks to see if Killua _sees_ him, cares for him enough to try and stop him, cherishes him enough to clean up after him.)

(He does. Every single time.)

_“It’s my job to be reckless, and it’s your job to stay cool and keep me in line!”_

Huh. 

Killua. Is _his_ safety net. But, not in the sense that he’s there to simply leash him and pick up after his trail of destruction. He’s a net beneath his falling body in a sense that… that if Gon ever tripped, that if the presence walking beside him sometimes wasn’t enough, Killua would be there to stoop low and soften his descent. To clean his cuts and tend to his wounds. He was a net in the sense that Gon would always have something to kneel back on when the weight of the world became too heavy, too much.

Killua is… not his safety net. Killua is… is an ocean full of gently lapping waves that, no matter how tired he is or how weak he feels, will always wash him back to shore.

Safety net sounds neater. Ocean sounds dangerous, but somehow it seems fitting.

And then a second later Gon scoffs at himself, because true to his own nature, he is always the last one to figure things out. Because only now is he realizing that the fact that Killua holds his hands underneath Gon to help him back up had been established as the norm long ago, and that perhaps he was the only one that had been left in the dark about it.

. . .

“Killua?”

No answer.

“Killua?”

No answer.

“Ki-llu-ah.”

No answer.

Gon sighs.

He gets like this, sometimes, all glossy-eyed and distant, face resembling an immaculate statue crafted and carved of the finest marble. Untouchable. Unfeeling. And he knows realistically that Killua is anything but, that he feels _too_ much sometimes. But times like these make it seem so, with a gaze so indifferent, so lacking of anything Killua-like. Void, like Illumi’s fish stare. A product his family would be proud of.

Gon knows Killua doesn’t actively try to, but the sight is frightening. It leaves shivers prickling his skin, and activates the foreign feeling of _fight it, fight it or it will fight you and then you will be defeated. Fight it fight it fight it, prove you can beat it, this monster._

Gon doesn’t know what goes through Killua’s head when he’s like this. Even when he’s lost wandering in his complex mind his eyes guard his thoughts, and his features don’t so much as twitch. He is sometimes convinced that if he touched him, his skin would feel hard and cold, like stone. Like marble.

(He does it anyway.)

It’s cooler than his own, which isn’t surprising because Gon’s always warmer during the day, but unlike what his mind half-convinced him of, Killua’s skin isn’t hard, isn’t unmoving like some statue. It’s not soft; nothing about Killua is soft, except maybe his heart. But it wasn’t inhuman. Killua healed fast and efficiently, and his skin remained immaculate, but it was rough to the touch. As if all the scars he was incapable of harbouring reconstructed themselves into layers of thick, calloused skin that resembled Gon’s worn socks or sand grains spread amongst bedsheets.

Gon takes Killua's hand in his, with his longer fingers immobile against Gon’s flatter ones. He notices small things, when they are close and vulnerable and detached like this. He sees the way Killua’s nails are uneven in length and choppy, the result of his constant aversion to clipping them like a normal person and instead of having them snag onto different things and break on their own. He sees the darker shadows along his knuckles, layered skin that colored a shade deeper than the rest. How blue and green veins curled over the long, thin bones lining the back of his hand, like coiling roots of a tree climbing up a metal gate. His wrist protruded out, connected to his arm with strong, rippling tendons and muscle coating his forearm.

These small things that Gon already knew because they’ve done this before. 

“Killua. I think you’ve done enough thinking for today,” he starts, letting his thumb rub along the rough skin of Killua’s fingers, tracing over the dark patches with a fondness he didn’t think he was capable of feeling yet feels anyway every single time. “I know you like getting lost in your head, but it’s getting kinda’ boring out here. I can’t read your mind, but I guess you're glad for that.”

Killua once told him that when he fell into his mind like this, it was like his muscles ceased functioning, and that no matter how hard he tried moving, it was like he was bound up. Like he was trapped behind his eyes and his memories locked his body in shackles he couldn’t even see.

He told Gon, in a flash of weakness (no, not weakness. Letting themselves be vulnerable wasn't a weakness) that sometimes he finds himself too worn out to try and break loose.

Gon isn’t strong. He’s realized this. He’s not strong, and he’s not a good person, and he’s pretty sure he’s hanging by a thread in everyone else’s view of him, but when it comes to Killua -- his best friend, his best friend, his very dear friend -- he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

He squeezed his hand once before plucking one digit at a time, lifting it and moving it in around by the base joint in languid motions, easing the stiff tension lingering beneath his skin. First his pointer, then the middle, the ring, the pinky. He took Killua’s thumb and rotated side to side, oh so softly, like any moment that hardened tension would return full force. He didn’t want to hurt Killua. He wanted to help him come back without the sharp pull of pain. Something softer, something safer.

“Remember back when we got caught by the Phantom Troupe, and you offered to be a distraction?” He moved to the next hand and started his rotations again, “I was so mad, ya’ know? I don’t think we ever talked about it, actually, but I was so, so mad. Because you weren’t allowed to do that kinda’ stuff. You were too… not like me. 

“That doesn’t even make sense. 

“You were everything I wasn’t. And you had your whole life ahead of you. You didn’t have a goal, and that was fine, because it meant you had time to explore the world without running through it. 

“And so I was so pissed off. I was actually afraid, to be honest. You’re my best friend, I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend before you. And you just up and offered yourself like that.

“I think it’s time you wake up Killua. I don’t want to have to smack you again.”

(Gon is a coward. _I won’t let you do that again. I won’t let you fall into your fear again. I can help. I can be useful._ He wants to stay. But he swallows it down. Not everything is about him. He can’t always be trying to prove something to someone. He is a coward. _I will help you even if it means curling my knees and taking your burden._ Is what he wants to say. But it’s not the right thing to say. Killua would scoff at him and take back his load. So Gon will ease it off him slowly.

He is a coward. He doesn’t admit that just wants to help because he cares. 

If he admits this out loud he’s basically holding out his ashy heart in his shaking hands and letting the grainy embers fall at his feet.)

Killua was still, but his fingers were quivering again, and Gon took his time slowly bending them in the same way Killua liked, grimacing at the pops and cracks every time he twisted and flexed it. He knew Killua found cracking his knuckles comforting, even as something to pass the time with, but Gon still disliked the sound.

He popped another knuckle, and Killua’s next inhale became audible.

By the fifth crack, he was blinking fast, and the milky blue of his eyes cleared into that metallic ocean Gon knew so well. He drew his hand away and messed his bangs shakily, returning his hand to Gon’s and interlocking their fingers.

(Gon has come to realize that Killua can’t actually hear him when he falls behind his eyelids, and he thinks that this is both a blessing and a curse. Because now that Gon’s opened his mouth once it’ll be infinitely harder to do it again.

He’ll do it anyway though, because for Killua, he’ll try.)

“How long?” Killua asks, and his voice was only a little bit breathless. 

“I dunno’. What’re we having for dinner?”

Killua pauses to think. This thinking wasn’t so bad.

. . .

You’d think that after years of knowing someone, surprises regarding each other wouldn’t be… well, surprising.

They had never really fit the norm anyway, so it was his fault he didn’t see it coming.

Gon’s whining could probably be heard from Yorknew. He wouldn’t be surprised if Kurapika called and told him to shut the fuck up.

“You need to stop.” He groaned long (and painfully annoying in tone) so Killua would understand the true roots of his suffering.

“You say that like I have control over these things.” Killua laughed as Gon threw the pencil to the ground and glared at his feet, as if they were the origin of all his life problems.

“And you don’t even drink milk. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”

Killua only laughed harder.

See, the true base of Gon’s misfortune was not his feet, nor was it anything he could wrestle down and punch into oblivion. It was more along the lines of a curse, really.

Zoldyck genes.

“You know, there’s this belief that if you hang from somewhere with your arms, you’ll grow faster.”

“Wait, really?”

“I don’t even know if it’s true!”

Throughout their time as preteens before their temporary break (they do not call it a separation, because that would imply that they would never be able to come back together the same way again. Separation gave away to words like _tear_ and _alone_ ; two people standing on different wavelengths.) Gon hadn’t really had the time nor the right amount of care to focus on things like his growth. His priorities had been the horizons, not how long his legs were, or how high his shoulders brushed.

He understood that growing up was part of any natural cycle, that it was inevitable, and knew deep down that it would occur no matter how much he thought about it, so he didn’t.

He hadn’t realized it would stop so soon, though.

Killua, true to his family, had always been taller. But the difference had been practically invisible because, well, his posture was terrible and Gon’s hair more than made up for it. They had parted the same way too, with eyes on the same level and hands clasped between their chests.

When they had reunited, to say Gon had been appalled would have been an understatement.

He hadn’t actually met Killua’s family beyond his mother, Alluka and two brothers; Illumi and the small one who had gemstone eyes. Back when he had bigger things to worry about than growth spurts, he hadn’t really paid much attention to other people’s appearances unless it would benefit him later.

But from what he saw, he knew Killua’s family were giants.

Okay, to be fair, that was a bit of an overstatement.

In every one of his memories of meeting the oldest of Killua’s siblings, he remembers having to crane his neck until he was practically looking straight up, being cast in the shadow of a long looming figure who sported fisheyes on a doll face.

It wasn’t hard to guess what the rest of his family might look like if one of them looked like _that_.

And Killua was never one to disappoint.

“Well, measure it,” Killua started, nodding to the wall where a distinct pencil line marked clear in contrast to the creamy color. “I mean, if you can reach it.”

Absolute. Jerk.

“Where’s the measuring tape.” Gon grumbles, unable to resist punching the other in the shoulder when he started snickering.

“Uh, I think Alluka has it. Alluka!” He called out, turning to the girl in question, who was rummaging around in the kitchen.

“Yes?” She chirped back, heading popping up from behind the wall separating them.

“Measuring tape?”

“Second drawer.”

And Gon had actually been hoping that Alluka had forgotten where she put the damn measuring tape, because then he would’ve been able to live in an ignorant peace where the difference in their eye level wasn’t a solidified number, rather an allusion of the brain.

No such luck.

“I’ll do yours after.” Killua offered, watching Gon stretch up to plaster the tape against the wall and press the bottom with his toes to keep it still. His eyes roamed up up up, counting numbers until he spotted that grey pencil mark perfectly aligns with--

“Damn it.” Gon muttered under his breath, and threw the tape down to join the pencil on the floor.

“Don’t be childish.” Killua clicked his teeth, bending down to pick the two things up before gesturing for Gon to stand by the wall. He could hear Alluka’s tinkling sparrow-chitter giggles from the kitchen.

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have cursed genes.”

“It’s not even that bad.”

That hanging-by-the-arms idea was sounding more appealing by the second.

Killua copied his previous motions, stepping up and flattening his hair (he mourned the loss, despite it being shorter than when he was twelve; it was still something vertical) levelling the pencil against his scalp to mark the wall.

Bend down, hold the tape, draw it up. Killua’s smug grin did not elevate his mood.

“Hmm, not bad, actually. 66 inches.” He mused, snapping the tape off.

Damn.

“What was mine?”

“30.”

“Gon, oh my God.” Killua wheezed, and even Gon couldn’t stop the bubbling laughter breaking past his lips.

“Give me more credit. I was out on the spot.”

“30. _Thir_ -ty. That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Shut up! Not my problem if you have tree blood in your veins.”

They laughed, Alluka poked her head back around to see the commotion before ducking back, and soon enough they were wiping tears off glassy eyes and panting for breath.

It hadn’t even been that funny. But laughter comes easily when you're around a very dear friend.

“Okay, but seriously, what was it?”

Gon gave a low whine, ribs still aching and a ghost smile on his lips. It was truly unfair, how he couldn’t even properly be upset about it.

“Unnatural.”

“Gon.”

“Completely unnatural.”

“You know what? I’m just gonna’ do it myself.”

“Okay, okay, you big baby.” Gon huffed, straightening his spine and wincing at the dull pops. “72.”

“Wait, really?” Why did he sound so astonished? How was Gon supposed to sulk now, when he sounded so excited?

“Yeah. I don’t know how tall that is in feet.”

“Six, I’m pretty sure.” Alluka contributed from within the kitchen.

“You need to stop Killua.” Gon repeated in his next whine.

“What, stop growing?”

“Yeah.”

“Dumbass. Blame my parents. I think my mom was 5’7, so it's probably not from her.”

“Wait, wait, what do you mean ‘not from her’. How tall is your dad?”

Killua thought hard for a moment, brows furrowed before he grinned, every bit as evil and malicious as it had been when they were measuring.

“6’6.”

Gon sees a light above him, and accepts the gates of the afterlife with open arms. This is it, this is the end for Gon Freecs, 17-year-old Hunter, caramel skin and tree-sap eyes, fucking 5’6.

Gon doesn't normally see the appeal in swearing, but he thinks now is a great time to let loose.

“I hate this.” He mutters finally, letting his shoulder drop and plopping onto the sofa with more dramatic flare than strictly necessary. He sighs with every ounce of yearning in his stupid 66-inch body, curses Ging for his stupid genes, and watches Killua roll his eyes while instructing Alluka to stand by the wall next.

It… didn’t actually bother him as much as he was letting on, to be honest. He’s watching his best friend grow, and it was akin to nurturing a plant in his bedroom and watching how it bloomed with his care. Sure, if Killua didn’t already have white hair he’d be greying thanks to Gon’s stupidity, but in a sense the physical proof that they're not really stuck as gangly twelve-year-olds was comforting. It was nice, seeing their limbs grow longer and carry their bodies higher.

(Mito-san used to talk about how he would end up growing past his father’s rather sad status. It was kind of funny, because it was clear she was probably praying for Gon to surpass his father out of sheer spite for the man. Gon didn’t mind though, because he had always imagined a day where he would be able to place his head above his aunt’s while they hugged, so he could protect her and give her warmth just like she did.

He’s not exactly tall enough to do just that, but it's enough, sometimes, to be able to rest his cheek against her shoulder.

Gon knew though, deep down, that his lack of physical progress is his own fault. Deep down, he sees black tendrils of something darker than hatred, and remembers succumbing to the feeling when he had been nothing but a little boy who liked to carry the world around in his pocket. He offered everything he had with outstretched arms and accepted his own demise, accepting that he wasn’t going to come out of it alive, to see the consequences of his actions.

It’s his own fault he’s ruined his potential, and Gon can’t find it in his to regret it. He’s tired of regrets.)

Killua’s gloating was rather annoying though, and maybe he felt the _tiniest_ pang of regret when he realized his line of vision would forever be connected to the other’s shoulder, but he would take it in stride.

“Oh wow! Alluka! 68 inches!”

Oh, screw taking it in stride then.

. . .

Travelling around the world holds the same excitement now as it did when he was twelve and leaving his home island for the first time. Sights he’s never seen suddenly right before his eyes, food he’s never tasted now plated at his hands, laughter and smiles and shining eyes of two people he’s come to know as family. He wouldn’t trade this for anything, this freedom, this lightened elation of knowing he was here, in the present, with nothing holding him down.

But Gon was tired.

He didn’t know what it was, or why it was even there. But there was an emptiness in his chest and weights in his joints every morning, and when he went to bed it was too his stomach rolling around the food he hadn’t even wanted to eat and eyes that itched too much to fall asleep. His limbs ached and his head felt like cotton stretched so thin you could see through it.

Stretched. He felt tired, and stretched.

He woke up tired, went through the day in a numb passing of scenes and sounds, and went to bed tired. But instead of sleeping he stared at the ceiling with wide (tired, oh so tired) eyes. He stared and stared, and at some point he would fall asleep. But even in his shallow blank floating he felt tired.

He was so, so damn _tired._

Gon still trains with Killua, even though he would much rather just sit and… he wasn’t actually sure what he would do, but sitting seemed like a heavenly comparison to standing and sparring.

(He loved sparring, what’s happening to him?

He _loves_ sparring, he corrects with a jolt, and for the first time in a long time, he feels an icy sliver of fear coil in his mind.)

His Nen is still unreachable (he doesn’t like to speculate why that might be), but he has to stay strong, even if it makes him want to fall to the floor and cry because that goal entails having to get up and move. He doesn’t even know _why_ he wants to cry. Maybe for the feeling of lightening a burden off his shoulders? Or just for the feeling of screaming and screaming until his throat was sore and he’d collapse out of exhaustion, waking up the next day finally feeling well-rested.

He just wants to _sleep_. No, that seems too shallow. 

(He wants to fall into a coma and he doesn’t want to wake up.)

But Gon doesn’t know what he wants, so for now he pushes aside his confused feelings and the need to cry over something he doesn’t even understand in favor of widening his stance and flexing his fingers.

(They feel stiff. He never feels stiff.)

“Ready?” Killua asks from across the clearing, and Gon forces himself to stretch his lips up, even if it meant feeling like his skin was made of wax to do it. Killua didn’t need to know why he was feeling the way he was. Gon _himself_ didn’t understand what this thing, this heavy thing in his chest was. He wouldn’t give Killua a need to worry more than he already did. Gon could handle this.

(A nice long coma, where he wouldn’t be floating in darkness. Rather, he’d be so out of it that all the feeling in his mind and body would cease to exist, and he would be left with nothing. He wanted to feel nothing right now. Nothing would be better than this rock festering his mind and weighing down his eyelids during the day only to roll around in his empty stomach at night.)

“Come at me,” He grinned (he felt stretched), and watched Killua bite down a smirk with his teeth before leaping forward, pivoting from side to side and sending dust spraying up from where his foot leapt off the ground a second after he landed. Gon focusses on his blurring shape, bracketing his arms in front of him to block the wide-swinging kick aimed at his chest. It sends him skirting against the ground, and Killua leaps off his arms, flipping in the air to land gracefully before him.

Gon’s joints are heavy, but he matches Killua’s parrying punches as best he can. (Why was this so hard? Why was breathing so much more difficult? Had dodging Killua’s attacks always been straining? Had he always been this slow?)

A swift kick to the side has him choking back a cough, and has him rolling in the dirt, sprawled and so, _so_ unwilling to get up. Killua’s laugh sounds thick and distant, and there’s a slight yet insistent ringing in his ears.

“That was good, eh? I think you’re getting slower Gon.” He joked (he _has_ to be joking), walking over to offer Gon a hand. He took it (he doesn’t think he could’ve heaved himself up even if he tried) and followed through as Killua pulled him to his feet.

Gon laughed with as much mirth as he could muster, which was quite hard when the feeling of empty stones dominated in your mind. He wouldn’t mention to Killua how his last real training session had been two weeks ago, and it had been a flimsy ten minute run before he called it quits.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just tired this morning.” He admitted, because even though he would never want to lay his problems down and force Killua to pick them up, he could never lie to him. That wasn’t what friends did.

Killua, in contrast to what Gon expected, frowned at this. He didn’t let go of Gon’s hand as he moved up another step, bringing a hand to feel his forehead.

“You’re not sick, are you?” He muttered, probably more to himself than to Gon, but he shook his head no anyway, effectively dislodging the hand there.

“No, I mean. I don’t think so, anyway.” He replied, eyes feeling heavy. 

“You should’ve told me how you were feeling, dumbass. I wouldn’t have forced you to come, ya’ know.”

“Yeah,” Gon sighed, and it seemed even the very air in his lungs was suddenly heavier, “I know.”

Gon wanted to rub the frown on Killua’s face away, but drawing his thumb up felt like too much effort, and he didn’t think Killua would appreciate having his lips smeared with his dirt-covered fingers.

“Okay, well, whatever. Let’s head back.” He stated after a long pause, finally letting go of Gon’s hand to trot over to their discarded sweaters. Instead of returning his, Killua held both. Gon was grateful, because his arms felt heavy, and he was tired.

When they got back to their temporary apartment Gon claimed he wanted a nap and headed to the room they shared (Alluka demanded she have her own space, and Gon understood, her being a growing girl and all. Now they have a futon set on the floor that they take turns altering on alongside the bed.)

Killua’s frown deepened, but then he smoothed his mouth into a thin line and nodded, saying how he would take care of dinner for tonight despite it being Gon’s turn and yes, Gon, it’s fine, really, I don’t mind, go take your fucking nap already, you piece of shit.

He chuckled lightly, but even that settled into something hollow in his chest.

Gon chalked it up as an odd month (do people even have odd months?) and fell into a shallow sleep that left him tired the moment he woke up.

A pattern, to be honest; wake up tired, go about the day, dodge Killua at dinner and retire early, sleep fruitlessly, wake up tired. It was becoming a sort of twisted routine, really, and he found himself oddly at comfort that he at least knew what to expect now. This exhaustion weighing his bones down like saddened stones was his new norm. He knew how to deal with this, all of it, and he would. He would manage. He was fine.

The month passed in a haze, the unrelenting rocks in his bones lingered, and Gon summarized by the second month that there was something wrong with him.

“Gon,” Killua called him out at breakfast one morning, when he left the bathroom in a tank top and sweatpants while Alluka poured out everyone’s favorite cereals in correspondence to the three different colored bowls set at the table (sugar flakes for Killua, whole-grain with honey for Gon, and cinnamon threaded cereal with yogurt for Alluka). He hummed absent-mindedly, plopping down into his seat and waiting on Killua to finish with the milk.

He didn’t, and after thirty seconds Gon lifted his gaze to reprimand him for taking forever when he froze at the stare he was subjected to.

“What is it?” Gon asked, trying his best to swallow his nervousness. It was times like these where Gon felt like his soul was being laid bare before him, being assessed and picked at and scrutinized as easily as reading a book (the title would be ‘All my Faults, by Yours Truly). 

Could Killua see? See his mangled heart? See the stone he couldn’t dislodge from his chest? See the tears pooling his eyes for a reason Gon didn’t even understand?

“Killua,” Gon tried again, averting his gaze to the milk, “Is there something in my hair that I missed? Are you almost finished with the milk? I can’t read your mind Killua.”

“You’re thinner.”

He snapped his gaze back to metallic blue, feeling all too exposed. He barely registered the way Alluka discreetly lifted her bowl and crept out of the kitchen towards her room.

“I, what? No I’m not? How do you know? I haven’t weighed myself in a whole year.”

“Gon, I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re making no sense.”

“How am I making no sense? I can see it, dumbass.”

Gon followed Killua’s finger to where it pointed to his arm, and he gazed down at his limb in wonder. It… looked the same, if he was being honest. The same greyish-brown tan and the same dark freckles and the same white scar that he got last year tripping down the stairs. 

“Killua, it looks the same.”

“Don't-- I’m gonna’ _kill_ you, stop. Just _stop_ , okay? I’m not stupid, and I know you're not stupid enough to not see it.”

Maybe he _was_ stupid enough, because it looked exactly the same to him.

“Killua--”

“You know what? No, I’m _done_ playing shit with you.” Killua suddenly slammed his palm down on the table, and Gon jolted. Why was he so mad? Was it because he skipped their usual training to go and wander the streets last night? He had already apologized for that, so why was he still so upset?

“I don’t understand. I’m sorry if it was about last night--”

“Just shut _up,_ ” Killua screamed, and Gon jumped again. There was a bubbling fire in his chest, churning and constricting his airway and making the world blur. It was the same feeling he got when he lost to Knuckle back when they were trying to save Kite, when he had cried over feeling useless. He felt useless now, too. Something was obviously bothering Killua, and he didn’t even know what it was. So fucking _useless._ And he felt like crying all over again, but this time he knew why. And he would make Killua worry about _him_ when there was obviously something bothering himself, and Gon would make him push his own wellbeing to the side because he was so fucking selfish and maybe _this_ was why he wanted to scream in the dead of night. _This_ was why he was tired.

He was tired of being useless.

He was so damn tired.

And now Killua was upset, and because Gon was absolutely _useless_ he could do nothing but try to breathe as he watched Killua grit his teeth, a dark vein at the center of his forehead that began at his left brow travelling up to his hairline throbbing with the sudden outburst.

Killua told him to shut up, and no matter how much Gon wanted to apologize -- for what, he didn’t know -- he kept his mouth closed and watched.

“Just,” Killua began, the hand pressed flat against the table curling into a fist, “Don’t. Don’t fucking lie to me, okay? I know, I’m not stupid.

“You’re not sleeping.”

No. No no no. Killua couldn’t know about that. He had his own problems to deal with. A little bit of restlessness on his part was probably a pinprick of annoyance in comparison to what must be bothering Killua. Stop thinking about me, Gon wants to shout, stop being selfless and think about yourself. 

(If you think about me and see all the dark stones in my chest you’ll be frightened, you’ll be disgusted, and then you’ll leave. You’ll leave just like all the other sensible people out there.)

But Killua’s heated glare forces him to keep quiet, half hoping (half begging) that Killua couldn’t read his soul like a book, and wouldn’t lay all his secrets bare before them. He was scared, he realized. He was so terrified at the prospect of Killua knowing everything that was wrong with him and then cast him aside when he figured out Gon was indeed useless, twisted and abnormal. He was so scared. And for once he couldn’t fight whatever was scaring him, couldn’t run away and then train to beat it later. Killua was looking at him _now,_ and Gon was scared. Petrified to the spot. (He wanted to cry.)

(He wanted to scream.)

(He didn’t do either.)

“Gon, I. I don’t know what’s wrong, but. _Fuck,_ Gon, you have to talk to me. Low and behold, I’m not a mind-reader, either. I _know_ there’s something wrong, okay? I know, so there’s no point in hiding shit from me.”

“Killua, are you okay?” There was red around Killua’s eyes and he was shaking. Killua never shakes. Has he been sleeping alright? (Gon’s a fool. Killua doesn’t truly sleep, just like Gon doesn’t really sleep. Established at the tender age of twelve. What had they called it? Floating aimlessly in a dark place behind their eyelids? _Existing_. Simple and plain and lacking anything truly human.)

And just as he’s about to reach out and try to coax Killua into calming down a bit, maybe leaving the dishes to Gon instead, he gets up. His chair topples loudly behind him, scraping against the floor and echoing around the room. Killua’s hair was long now, and his wild bangs easily swayed before his eyes, shadowing them as he glared at the ground. Gon slowly pulled his arm back, swallowing thickly. There was something wrong. There was something wrong with Killua and he didn’t know what it was. He had to help him. Tell me what’s wrong, tell me so I can help you.

Neither of them say anything, and where Gon’s breathing had become inaudible and shallow, Killua’s is loud and ragged in comparison, like he’s struggling to draw in air. He slides his hand off the table, silently making his way to the kitchen and turning to stand directly before him.

Gon wants to stand. Something primal in his gut flares at being looked down upon, something hot and coiled and unnaturally angry. This… thing festering in his body, he hasn’t felt it growl like this in a while. It efficiently breaks through his tired haze and lights his nerves on fire. He wants to jump up and yell, ball his hands into fists and fight. For the first time in months, he wants to _move_.

He looks up, and his flame shrivels into nothing but cold ashes.

Killua’s eyes are furious.

(He looks like he wants to cry.)

“Ki-”

He doesn’t get to finish, because suddenly his shirt is being yanked by a hardened fist and before he can register the fact that _Killua looks ready to break,_ he’s being bodily lifted from his seat and pulled to the door.

“Whah, Killua?! Let, let _go_! Something’s wrong-”

They keep moving, and the door to their apartment slams shut behind them.

“You can talk to me, ya’ know, I can help.”

It’s early. The sky is still grey and pink like the underbelly of salmon is peaking past the treeline.

It’s cold.

_Killua doesn’t look ready to break. He looks ready to break something._

“Killua! Stop being-”

“Stop being _what_?” Killua snarlers, shoving him forward, and Gon’s finally taken notice of the fact that they’re standing in their usual sparring area; a clearing made of dirt amongst the thin trees of a small forest beside the town. The shrubbery around them looks pale, like bones stitched together in the grayscale of the predawn light.

“You,” Killua cut himself off with a sharp inhale, deep and violent, and Gon felt a rippling force suddenly push against him, shredding his flimsy instinct to stand tall and fight, replacing it with the urge to run as fast as he could, as far as he could. Killua’s aura, he recons in the back of his mind, must have flared in his unconscious fit of rage -- or whatever was growing in his mind that he needed to unleash -- and expanded it until it pressed down on Gon’s sides, forcing the air to squeeze out of his constricting lungs. “You _asshole._ ”

Had Killua been sleeping lately? Gon asks himself again, forcing himself to breathe despite the great pressure on his chest that made his heart race inexplicably. His eyes were wild, red-rimmed and sporting dark bruises under the tender skin beneath, making him appear gaunt in the early dew-colored sky. Like a restless ghost. The physical incarnation of everything Gon was feeling deep in his bones and brain and heart.

“Killua,” He began softly, raising his arms in what he hoped would be a placating manner, “maybe you should calm down and take the rest of the day off. Don’t worry about those errands, yeah?”

Wrong choice of words. The intensity pushing against Gon’s body increases, and all at once he feels like he was drowning on land, unable to breath and unable to see and oh God, his lungs weren’t working with him, he couldn’t draw in any air. He cursed himself then, for his lack of aura, for his lack of defense. This power was too great for him, and Killua could easily crush him if he so pleased. 

He wouldn’t do that, he tries to convince himself, tries to breathe reason into himself. He won’t. 

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Gon! I’m tired of hearing shit from you!” His breathing was ragged, he was not okay. Gon needed to calm him down before he hurt himself.

“I don’t know what’s _wrong_ , Killua! You have to talk to me.” Gon tried yelling through that unmovable force of power pushing him, battering his skin in unseen waves of hostility. He’s never felt Killua’s aura like this, and never directed to _him_.

He had thought they were okay.

(He’s clearly delusional.)

“Okay, you want me to tell you what’s wrong? Fine. Fucking _fine,_ but you keep your shitty mouth shut. You shut the fuck up, and you listen, okay? Do you fucking understand?”

Killua’s anger is terrifying, Gon decides, and he doesn’t think there is a universe or alternate reality out there where Gon can fight against it. He nods with every ounce of strength he can muster. It’s barely enough.

(He wants to run. He wants to run so bad. He’s so scared, and he feels terrible because this is Killua, and he’s afraid of _Killua_ right now -- his best friend, he’s reminding himself, my best _friend_ \-- and it feels like the bleached bone-like trees around them are laughing at him because Gon had never imagined a day would come where his fear would originate from _Killua_.)

“Gon, I’m,” Gon tries to listen, he does. But it’s _hard_ , because his breathing is practically nonexistent and the pressure around him has nullified his senses into a dull set of vibrations, like deep ocean waves thousands of feet below the surface. Like a taut string being plucked. He feels echoes bounce around his skull and settle into his bones until he’s convinced the muscle coating his body will all but shred into pieces, is confident that the pressure of this intangible fury will break through his eardrums and rattle his brain into a sludge.

It’s an instant, a second’s difference in time, and within this fraction of vacuumed space Killua’s intense rage vanishes like a leaf through bellowing winds, and Gon’s left gasping in its departure. The air is suddenly too light, and in such abundance that he’s sure he’ll choke in it.

Gon levels his breathing as best he can, glances up behind heavy eyelids to see Killua -- his best friend, he reminds himself, and it’s easier without being suffocated by nothing -- sees him slumped suddenly, eyes wide and somehow more prominent in his sunken ash-white face, skin a sickly hue that matched the skeletal white trees. 

“You can feel it, yeah?” He asks, and Gon notes his voice is shaking. He wishes he had Killua’s intuitive prowess in seeing through souls, in picking them apart, because then Gon would know what’s wrong and be able to help him. Instead, he is gasping in the air his lungs are greedily ravaging, and it’s a miracle he can hear anything at all above the pounding of his heart.

“Gon,” Killua suddenly calls, confident, steadier, like he’s made up his mind.

Gon wishes he had that kind of tact right now.

“Fight me.”

“Kih-Killua,” Gon finally speaks, steadying his breathing into something manageable. “I’m not fighting you. You need to rest.”

“Gon, you agreed to shut your damn mouth for once and listening. Now _listen_ to me. I’m not asking you to fight. I’m giving you a warning.”

Killua was making no sense, but the implication was there alongside his raising fists, his gleaming eyes; he wasn’t going to stop once he started, and Gon needed to be ready lest he wanted a mercilessly brutal pummeling.

Killua waited no more than a second once Gon shifted his stance and raised his arms before leaping forward, unrelenting in his pursuit. A parry of punches upfront, a sweeping kick from the side, a jump up, twist of the hips, another kick; block, jump back, duck, roll over, brace, block.

It was clockwork, the way Gon matched Killua’s attacks, but the new form of aggression lingering behind each thrust of his fist or swinging leg at Gon was unfamiliar. The way his eyes did not shine with mirth the longer they sparred, but instead shadowed with something heavy every time Gon jumped back or successfully evaded his advances.

“Fucking. _Fight me_ Gon,” Killua growled, and Gon really did try. Something primal was rolling over in his stomach, the need to attack attack attack and come out victorious no matter the cost. It made his eyes sharpen, made his breathing quicken.

But it was hard. It was hard when his joints felt stiff and his muscles wouldn’t listen to him, when he saw an arm coming for a swift blow to the ribs and all he could manage to do was brace for the pain because he couldn’t command his body fast enough to counter it. He felt tired, his eyes heavy and his chest heavier. Empty stones piling in between his bones and tendons and gathering at his limbs, weighing them down.

Killua let up his punches to jump back a foot, and Gon refused to acknowledge that it might have been because his breathing was more laboured than usual. This was pathetic.

With clenched teeth Gon raised his arms again, widening his stance despite the outrageously strong desire to just collapse.

“You said you’d talk if I stayed quiet.” Gon began, not trusting his legs to step forward without shaking. Instead, he hoped the growing flare in Killua’s eyes was enough to distract him from the fact that Gon’s body felt like metallic sand barely sticking together.

“I did,” Killua muttered, and then began his attacks once more.

Back and forth, but really it was all just Killua attacking and Gon defending, arms becoming battered and bruised because Killua was fast, even without his Nen; he was so fast, and so strong.

Back and forth, until Gon’s forearm felt numb to the vicious punches Killua was giving him, until his legs became seemingly rooted to the sandy soil beneath his feet. He wasn’t even thinking at this point. Just keep your arms up, keep them up, keep them up.

“I know you're not sleeping.” A waver, the smallest hitch in his breath that indicated that yes, he’d heard Killua and yes, these icy tendrils of fear coiling around his heart were very much real because Killua was going to pick him apart now, down to the very last detail, and he would be left naked and shunned because Gon, deep down, was not a good person, not a good friend.

That waver was enough, and it earned him a quick kick to the ribs. The roots in his feet ripped, and he was left sputtering on the ground. Gon shook his head, feeling ringing echoes bounce inside his brain and tilt it to one side, like water sloshing inside his skull. He braced himself on one knee and got up again, raising his arms, widening his stance.

Clockwork.

“You’re not eating properly.”

Another hitch, another waver, his result; a jab to the leg.

Gon knew he should retaliate, spit on the ground and charge forward. This was a whole new low, being unable to focus in a fight because Killua saw it fit to tear down Gon’s carefully crafted secrets. He would see it eventually, how ugly his heart is. How it was full of holes.

Gon didn’t want that to happen. 

“There’s something wrong.” _With you,_ goes unsaid, but Gon hears it loud and clear.

_It’s happening anyway._

(He knew how hopeless it was, but he was tired. Tired of being mangled and tired of being abnormal. He wanted oh so badly to rip out bruising muscle from his chest and plug those bleeding holes in with his fingers. It would hurt less, he thinks, than whatever… _this_ is.

Is it selfish? Is it? Is it inhumane to ask for a little humanity? He wants to go back. Back to being twelve and light, with his next big worry being what his next lunch will be.)

He should attack. Gon is stupid; this is a universal fact, but he’s not blind. He sees the way Killua spends more time staring at nothing, spends long nights (where Gon is wide awake) lying still in bed and staring at the ceiling instead of tossing and turning in his sleep like normal. Gon notices these things, the way heavy bruises imprint the soft skin under his eyes and the way Killua looks one second away from snapping at him whenever he opens his mouth.

There’s tension in his shoulders, a quake in his step.

He’s not okay.

“You’re not sleeping either.” Gon finally speaks, a little above a whisper, but that’s all it takes. Killua’s next step, in a fraction of a second, falters, and Gon shoots up with energy he did not possess to kick his legs out from under him and deliver a sharp punch to his face.

(It sickens him, how delighted he feels for the first time in weeks when his knuckles connect with the sharp bones of Killua’s cheek. He feels sick. He feels sick. This isn’t normal, it can’t be. There's something terribly wrong with him.)

Killua, as expected, lands on his hands instead of his back, flipping over with an elegant twist to plant both feet back on the ground, arms raised.

Defensive.

Gon knows he should take the opportunity to change the tempo of… whatever they were calling this violent dance of theirs. He knows that a chance like this won’t arrive again, that Killua was built to only allow mistakes to happen once. He covers up his faults with grace and stands tall.

But he can’t bring himself up to do it. He can’t. Instead, he stares at his fist; knuckles split from biting the hard ground and small cuts dancing amongst caramel skin like bloody stars streaking across the sky. It felt good to punch Killua in the face. The feeling of flesh against bone against marrow. It shouldn’t take beating his best friend to spark something inside him, he thinks, slumping to his knees and lowering his fist to the ground. It shouldn’t. This was unnatural. This was inhuman.

A heavy sigh, followed by padded footsteps, and suddenly Gon wasn’t the only one sinking to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Killua mumbles, and Gon can’t bring himself to look up. He listens instead, to Killua’s ragged breathing and whispers. He keeps his mouth shut, because Killau asked him to, and he lets him do the talking for now.

“I’m just, I always forget that you’re a stubborn piece of shit.”

Chuckles, heavy but still from the heart.

“I’ve,” A deep breath, and then a hand was suddenly carding through his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp so unlike the hardened fists that most definitely bruised his skin mere minutes ago. “I’ve noticed, okay? I know you, I know you hate it. I. I’m not mad, Gon. I’m not, okay? But you’re my--

“You’re my best friend, yeah? And, and I’m _worried._ It’s what friends do, right? I just. I need you to talk to me.”

Good God, what did Gon do to deserve someone like Killua? Nothing he’s ever done could ever amount to everything Killua’s done for him. The hand rubbing his head feels good, really _really_ good, and his eyes were failing him. For once he doesn’t think his mind would fight him on sleeping.

Oh, he was supposed to reply now, isn’t he? He finally glanced up, meeting those grey-blue eyes that shone with something suspiciously wet. Gon felt his heart sink and flip all at once. Gon didn’t deserve him. Stop looking at me like that, he wants to scream, stop looking at me like I’m someone worth it, someone who hasn’t hurt you.

But Killua, low and behold, _isn’t_ a mind-reader, and he asked Gon to talk.

He opens his mouth, and talks.

. . .

“Can you guys not talk about serious things without beating the crap out of each other?” 

Gon grins sheepishly, hand finding his nape to rub the hot pinpricks away while Alluka crosses the threshold of the kitchen with a large bowl of water and towels in hand. Sometimes he muses how Alluka’s aged faster than most kids her age, had matured, and then he thinks how everyone currently living in this small apartment was forced to grow up.

“What did I say about your language?” Killua scolds without heat, giving out a small shriek when Alluka throws one of the towels at him, accompanied by a glare.

“Do you know what it feels like to listen to you scream in the kitchen before bodily dragging each other outside when screaming doesn’t seem like enough?”

“Well, Killua had done most of the dragging--”

“You didn’t help! You’re so infuriating--”

“That’s no excuse onii-chan!”

“Yeah Killua, own up to your--” Gon let out a loud curse when Killua slapped him with the wet towel.

. . .

Gon feels like the two of them are incapable of talking through serious issues in broad daylight. It’s when the sky succumbs to darkness and Gon can barely see past his fingertips that suddenly the idea of letting loose everything in his chest feels so appealing. Of course, the fact that Killua was currently on the futon and unable to see Gon’s face made things a whole lot easier too.

Their blinds were shut, and the air around them was cold. Gon could feel his nose turn to an icy temperature without even having to touch it, the way air felt numb at the tips of his skin made him aware enough. Killua had purposelessly set his pillow near the one vent that actually produced hot air, and was probably hogging it all for himself, which would explain the cool tendrils settling around Gon’s body.

If it were up to him, the two of them would spend the rest of the night in this companionable silence, each mulling over thoughts while bruises painted over their bodies. Gon felt exhausted, but like every other night, while his eyes burned to close and mind itched to rest, his heart disagreed with him. It liked to watch him suffer, it seems.

Killua liked to see him suffer too, he thinks, because his next inhale is deeper, and soon his voice is floating through the chilly air.

“You promised to talk.”

_“I’m, I’m not okay, Killua. But. But I don’t think you are either.”_

_“That’s-- listen, I’m just worried about you.”_

_“That’s a lie. You’re lying.”_

_“I, no I’m not. I really am worried. You,” A deep breath, “I promise to talk if you talk.”_

_It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a request. Gon was going to have to talk whether he liked it or not._

_But he wanted to know what was eating at Killua too, so he complied easily._

_“You gotta’ promise.”_

_“I. I promise.”_

He had, hadn’t he.

“You, you’re not gonna’ like what I’m going to say.” Gon whispered, his chest feeling heavy; his heart was such a weight, and normally he could handle it. But in the hushed space of this small bedroom, under the quiet spell of black around his vision, it felt like a burden too great for his hollow stone-filled bones.

“Gon, I’m not. _Listen,_ I’m not going to judge you okay?” A shuddering breath, “I’ve got too much blood on my hands for that.”

Gon wanted to brush away Killua’s fears with his probably chilly fingers, convince him that Killua was so strong, so damn strong, and so stupidly selfless. He wanted Killua to see himself through Gon’s eyes, and see just how… how beautiful Killua’s heart was.

But he didn’t. He didn’t move for fear of this great rock beating in his chest collapsing through his ribs and dropping on the floor. Because then Killua would see everything raw, for what it was, and Gon wouldn’t be able to pick up the pieces fast enough.

“I’m listening, Gon. I’m not gonna’ talk, promise. But I want _you_ to talk. Tell me what’s wrong.” _Not what’s wrong with you,_ he didn’t say that. Gon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, then stole it back.

There was silence. It was ringing in his ears again, and he began tracing lazy circles in his forearm to try and calm his buzzing nerves.

No point in stalling. Stalling would make it painful. Killua wasn’t going to leave him. Killua wasn’t going to leave him. Killua wasn’t going to leave him. Killua was his best friend. Best friends no matter what. No matter how mangled Killua found out Gon was.

A deep breath, and then he began to speak. 

(He’s proud that he’s managed to hide the quiver in his voice.)

“I’m. I’m really tired.”

Killua didn’t respond. Oh right, he was listening. Gon normally loved to fill their lapses of silence, found joy in talking and talking about everything and nothing the way both of them seemed to exist. But talking about something so ugly in a space so tender was difficult, painful even. It hurt.

(Gon was used to pain. Broken bones and charred skin and whole limbs blown off didn’t hurt _nearly_ as much as heartache. As an ache he couldn't see.)

“It’s. Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping,” he admits, feeling words suddenly bubble in his throat and roll violently around his tongue. He wanted it out, now, all of a sudden and without warning. He wanted it gone, he wanted it off. _Suddenly_ , and _without warning_ , words were flowing past his lips faster than he could process them himself.

“It’s just, everything feels so _heavy_ all the time. My, my _chest_ feels heavy, my bones; I don’t think they're okay anymore. It’s like I’ve been eating rocks. I can’t sleep because there are rocks in my chest, Killua.

“It’s making me tired, but I can’t sleep. I-I haven’t trained in a whole month. I haven’t been running. I’m so _so_ tired. 

“And, I. I’m gonna’ be honest with you, Killua. Sometimes, I don’t even think it’s a bad thing. My-my chest isn’t full of rocks. I lied. It’s just,” he sniffs, and thinks it’s unfair that his eyes burn the way they do when the air around him is so chilled, “I’m not a good person, Killua. I was never a good person, but I never saw it, ya’ know? And now I think all these rocks in my body are making me pay for being a bad person.

“My heart, I think it’s full of holes. It’s worse than rocks. You deserve better Killua. You do. I know you do. You promised me you’d listen, right? Well, _listen_. I’m, I’m sorry I have rocks, Killua. I’m sorry I have holes in my chest.”

It’s unfair, he decides, that these tears on his face feel like magma against his skin while his toes become numb in the cold. It’s kind of fitting though.

Killua cries silently, like he does everything else. But Gon always hears it, always knows when distress coats his words and his eyes leak with water he doesn’t want to waste. They are alike, in a sense. Gon bites his lips to keep quiet, but he knows it’s futile, knows that Killua knows. He’s a quiet crier, always has been and probably always will. 

God, he doesn’t deserve Killua, does he? Doesn’t deserve the way he silently gets up, white hair a ghostly grey in the darkness. The way he pads soundlessly to his side and slides under the covers beside him. He feels like he’s borrowing something precious, like Killua isn’t truly his best friend, but rather someone who will be with him temporarily. Killua can’t possibly be real.

But he _is_ , he realizes, through murky vision and copper on his tongue, with impossibly warm hands cupping his frigid digits like they were something fragile, some precious.

( _“_ _I put you up on a pedestal, you know? I thought you were like a light, I thought you were the greatest fucking human being out there. I raised you up to a level where you were everything in my mind.”_

Was this what Killua had been talking about? This, imagining the other as someone who he didn’t deserve. His stomach does flips and his heavy heart sinks. He looks back with a jolt, suddenly, to Killua. All of him, down to his bloodied fists, his cold demeanor, his soft heart and personal selfishness. 

He only cared for a select number of people, and cherished even less. His heart, he speculates, was too small and too guarded to allow more in. Gon remembers when Killua had admitted something that had been hanging on his mind for some time, a while back, in the same shelter of nighttime darkness. Something that Gon had, at the time, stored away without a thought.

 _“I don’t think, no, I_ know _that if something were to happen to you or Alluka, something that forced me to choose between you or someone else, I wouldn’t even hesitate for a second to kill them and make my decision easier. I know I said I wouldn’t, but I know that if something like that ever happened, I wouldn’t be able to hold back. It’d be a massacre._

 _“And the scariest part? I don’t think I’d even regret it. Not one bit.”_ )

“You’re not perfect, are you.” Gon whispers suddenly, sniffing back fresh tears. The black around them already made it hard to see, and the foggy screen of salty moisture wasn’t helping much.

“Not by a long shot,” Killua replies, voice barely above a wispy wind’s echo. “You did what I did, didn’t you?” _You made me someone I’m not,_ goes unsaid, but Gon hears it.

“Yeah,” he breaths, and only hesitates once before bringing his toes closer and burrowing them between Killua’s shins. The effect was the same as it had been when they were twelve, and the warmth that spread through his chest was familiar, unchanging.

“It’s your turn to talk.” Gon finally sighs, breathing regulated to something manageable.

“Okay, fine. But, I wanna’ talk about how stupid you are later.”

“Only if I get to talk about how stupid you are.” The smile that forms on his lips feels easy, for the first time in a while, and he feels it growing without his permission.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know.”

Gon nods and tells him to continue. His mouth is, for once, shut. He knows talking isn’t Killua’s forte, isn’t something he’s good at doing. He’s working on it though, and Gon thinks that the thick darkness around them helps loosen his tongue a lot like it eased Gon’s mind. A sort of naive safeguard. What had Killua called it, all those years ago? _Blissful ignorance._

“Okay, well, I guess what I wanted to say was I kind of get you. I’m, I mean, I’ve been feeling restless. Too much of… _something_ going around my brain. I feel like I’m buzzing. It’s kind of the opposite of you, actually.

“I just, I wanna’ _move_ , ya’ know? I wanna’ do something stupid and reckless. I haven’t taken any… challenging hunter jobs because I’ve had Alluka, and now I have-- no, wait, that’s not what I. _Shit_ , no, Gon, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Gon forced his brows to straighten, and willed the hurt frown twitching on his lips away. Just. _Listen_ to Killua. He’s not stupid. He didn’t mean it. He. He doesn’t think you’re weak.

He doesn’t.

“I didn’t mean it like that, promise. I. _Don’t_ think you're weak. I don’t, okay? Fuck, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Really, it was. He remembers, how making mistakes-- “is what makes people human.”

“Huh?”

Right, Killua wasn’t a mind-reader. But currently, the appeal to explain his thoughts have shrunk to the size of a walnut, even less when the world in front of him was swirling into a fuzzy black and grey, mind hazy with the need to finally _sleep_.

“It’s nothing.” Gon sighs, and Killua gives him a funny look. Like Gon was an absolute idiot. He definitely was.

Silence, thinner than the one they entered their room with, but no less quiet. Gon’s content to let his brain slip away after realizing that Killua… really doesn’t give a damn that Gon’s full of rocks and holes. His heart, it’s kind of light now, as if finally at rest knowing it’s not as inhuman as it had thought.

“I think. I think it’s the same problem.” Killua starts after a while, when Gon was convinced he had entered into that blank space only the two of them seemed to know about.

“What is?”

“You’re _holes_ and my…”

“Edge?”

“Yeah,” Killua huffed, letting go of Gon’s now-warm fingers and flopping his arm in the space between them.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You said you would talk--”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Gon had his eyes closed at this point, not that it made the image around him any different. He listened to the way the sheet ruffled as Killua adjusted himself, spreading long limbs over his half of the bed, seemingly forgoing his plan on using the futon for tonight.

“I, I feel stretched.” He finally sighed, “Like, I’m growing too fast. You’re growing. But I haven’t been able to… to stretch myself out. So I _feel_ stretched? On the inside, I mean.”

Gon nodded soundlessly.

“And I think,” another shuffle, another sigh, and suddenly there was a blanket being thrown over his shoulders. “I want to take on a mission.”

There was a resolve behind his words that made Gon open his eyes. Killua was staring at his hands; pale, long-fingered, with knuckles that stuck out and dark veins that slithered beneath ash-white skin. Gon couldn’t see them now, but knew them well enough, traced them enough times to know the intricate map laid beneath calloused flesh.

“A harder one.” 

“Yeah. But, I.” His brow was furrowed, Gon could tell, the way his voice pitched when he cut his sentence in half. He wanted to go really bad, didn’t he?

But he had priorities.

Alluka’s safety and Gon’s life too (he feels his organs flutter, and it’s a nice feeling). 

He needed action -- _they_ needed action, it seemed -- to quench that thirst, to feel like he fit in his body. He understood, of course he did. They were hunters. They weren’t made for idle life, as much as they would _like_ to settle and be comfortable.

Breaking comfort was what got Gon’s blood pumping though. Maybe… maybe firing that dormant flame in his gut would burn away the weight, the stones, the heaviness lingering beneath his skin. Maybe Killua was right.

Who was he kidding? Killua was always right, as infuriating as it was.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“A mission. Let’s take the hardest blacklist mission we can find.”

“But, Alluka can’t--”

“Killua,” he started, eyeing the other’s hand laying motionless between them (how the temptation to trace random patterns on the flat of his hand lingers even as he continues to talk. He wants to grab it and draw invisible trails on the translucent color, trace veins that create small ripples in the smooth texture. He wants to, so bad), “You know I care for Alluka too. I want to make sure she stays safe. But I think, well, she’s already turning fifteen. And--” 

He bit his lip. Should he reveal Alluka’s plans right now? Is it the right time to address the fact that she wants independence? Killua is protective, and anyone can understand why, but Alluka needed to breathe. In a sense, in juxtaposition to Killua, she felt constricted, trapped, like she couldn’t spread her limbs without feeling the edges of her boundaries. 

Killua sighs (it’s his fourth one) and draws him out of his head, and he turns just in time to see his pout.

“Alluka wants some space.”

(The hand looked so tempting. All he had to do was grab it.)

“Yeah, she’s been talking about it for a while.”

(He does.)

“I just, I’m worried is all. She’s my little sister. And,” he glanced at Gon with a small grin, “I think she’s kinda’ yours now too.”

Gon matched his smile, because yeah, she kind of _was_.

“I already asked Bisky, actually, if she would consider taking her in for a little while. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Of course.” Gon nods. Totally, completely serious.

“Yeah, and she was ecstatic about it too. For all her talk, that hag’s a loner.”

Gon laughed, feeling the bumps and indents of Killua’s veins, the hard yet thin bones of his fingers, the jutting knuckles.

“I don’t know if you know, but she’s been talking about going off on her own for a while. I mean, we were twelve when we first took the hunter exam. I think she feels like she’s done waiting, ya’ know?”

“Mhmm, yeah.” Killua breathed, and there was heavy conflict under his tone. Gon knew that he would probably feel guilty no matter what decision he chose. 

Killua was strong though. He was a Zoldyck. He’d get over it.

“Tell her this week. I think we need that life-threatening mission asap.” 

Killua chuckled, humming in agreement.

“Though, Gon, I don’t think you’ll be able to handle it,” Killua started, smirk betraying his intentions, even in the dark, “You said it yourself. A whole month without training? That’ll definitely be a set-back.”

“Well, _you_ haven’t been eating properly.” Gon shot back. Because he had noticed. Noticed that if Killua wasn’t preoccupied with something like preparing dinner or running errands, he was out training relentlessly, coming back home after hours of doing God-knows-what, sweat drenching his body as efficiently as a rainstorm.

Yet despite the sudden spike in physical workouts, Killua’s hadn’t filled in as quickly as he normally would have. It was just a testament to how little he’d been eating, for his body to remain the same despite his relentless training.

“Neither have you. It shows ya’ know.” Killua reprimanded mockingly, unable to stop his snickering when Gon flicked him in the arm.

“It does not.”

“Does too.”

“Does _not._ ”

“Does _too._ ”

“What _ever._ Even if it _does_ , which it totally doesn't, I can totally make up for it.”

“I dunno’. I kicked your ass pretty hard back then.”

“You also screamed a lot. So I don’t know if it counts.”

“What does that even have to do with anything,” Killua laughed, bringing his unoccupied hand to cover his eyes, trying desperately not to be so loud as to disrupt literally everyone else living in the thin-walled apartment. Gon giggled alongside him, content for once in a long time.

When he fell asleep he barely felt the beating stone in his chest.

(When they sign up for their next mission, it's with excitement pumping blood faster, making their eyes gleam brighter. Gon, for the first time in what feels like forever, feels alive.)

. . .

“Oh wow!” Gon gasps, feeling his throat tighten and he leaned against the flimsy railing, eyes wide to try and take everything in all at once. Killua leaned beside him, hair pulled back a small little tuft at the base of his skull letting shorter hairs dance around his face and flutter past his eyes. 

The wind is roaring up here, a gust from down below that sends air bellowing past them, up and up and up in a swirling force that no one could see. The canyon below was deep, reminding him of a similar sight during the Hunter Exams. Deep into the ground and revealing a wide ravine beneath, the two of them stood against the flimsy railings high above the cliffside that rose past the split in the ground. The sight was dizzying, being so high and up and looking down so low.

It was exhilarating.

“Yeah, wow.” Killua breathed, astonished, if his wide eyes were anything to go by. He leant in further, and the railing groaned in frustration but stayed put.

“I had no idea it would be so deep. You could fit the World Tree in here.”

“Okay, well that’s a bit much--”

“No no, you know I’m right.”

“-- but it _is_ super deep. That water down there must be really warm.”

“How do you know?” Gon asked, tilting his head curiously. Killua turned his head without leaning back to look at him as he explained.

“Well, the air coming up is warm, see? I don’t know how all this works, but I’m guessing since the water is so far below the ground that there are actually small underwater volcanoes that release hot--”

For someone who didn’t understand ‘how it all works’, he sure knew what he was talking about. Gon nodded when he thought it was appropriate and grinned to himself when he watched Killua prop himself further past the sad excuse of a railing to get a better look at the ravine.

“-- and not to mention that the way these air currents are moving--”

“You wanna’ go down?”

Killua snapped his jaw shut with a wild grin, and wasted no time in jumping past the railing -- it wasn’t even a proper railing -- to fall past the canyon edge alongside him.

. . .

“Ne, Killua?”

“Gon, go to sleep.”

“I know you’re not sleeping.”

“Astounding observation, genius.”

“Killua,” Gon whined, rolling over and watching Killua copy his movements from the bed parallel to his own.

“Gon,” Killua mimicked, the slight curve of his thin lips betraying his amusement. “What could you possibly be thinking about in that big head of yours at this hour, huh?”

(Because Gon wasn’t afraid of thinking anymore. He wasn’t a coward. Would not let himself be one, anyway.)

“Oh, just thinking.”

Killua made a noise of mild frustration, and Gon grinned cheekily.

“Killua, I,” deep breath, because he was starting to learn that when he thought before he spoke, the gravity of his words weighed a lot heavier in his throat. It had more feeling, felt more human.

They felt real.

“I’m glad I met you.” He sighs, and is reminded of the last time he spoke those words and truly felt the weight of them drip from his tongue, back when he was thirteen and warming his toes against Killua’s hot skin while they talked about the emptiness of false sleep. 

Of how he looked at Killua’s rough strands of hair, how they resemble stars flying across the sky.

Yet this head full of shooting stars wasn’t unreachable, unlovable, unattainable. He was right there, a few feet from him, with a heart too big for his body and a body too sharp for his heart. Who though was graceful and strong, held back quivering words beneath his breath when he thought no one was looking (but Gon knew, just like Killua always knew, and maybe that was their greatest power, what made them so strong. Knowing, and caring.)

Killua. Who didn’t mind becoming Gon’s safety net, his gentle ocean waves (who would fight anyone else for the title). 

Who calmed when he let Gon play with his fingers (when thoughts flew in his head too fast).

He thinks now (not for the first time now, and definitely not for the last) older and no less wise than when he was twelve, that he is, in fact, grateful for everything. For Mito-san, for Ging, for the forest, for the ocean, for the stars and the love and loneliness and his own mending heart.

It hadn’t been easy, lying here tonight feeling light and unbothered, with regret a mere foul-tasting memory barely lingering behind his tongue. And they weren’t perfect yet, either (probably never will be). The fight is there, even repressed still lighting a fire in his blood, making his lips turn up into a grin and easing his veins to singe magma through his body. It’s not easy, fighting for everything. It never was and never will be.

But he was a hunter, and things would never truly come easy to him. Somewhere deep down he knew this from the very beginning, back when he had come fresh off a small island as a small boy with big big dreams that expanded beyond the clouds.

That’s what hunters did, after all. They sought out what they wanted, for what they felt like they needed.

(Gon had always wanted to touch the stars, so he got up, trotted over to Killua’s bed, and found them.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, congrats on getting through all that. i'm shocked.  
> some notes for this... whatever it is for those who want to read it:
> 
> -Timeline is kinda twisted up but it’s okay no one noticed I think
> 
> -I changed up a few things in the previous chapter, which are hardly noticeable and not even important. The main thing I switched up plot-wise was Gon finding his Nen. I put some thought into it after posting and during editing, and found that I would actually be more satisfied if Gon never got Nen again (plus it made more sense, in relation to his covenant. I picture that instead of his nodes being closed, they’re completely dried up. Poof, empty. Nothing left :,))
> 
> -Writing Gon included me throwing my hands up several times, biting my lips to oblivion, deleting several thousand words, and probably waking up in a cold sweat full of regret at least twice. He’s just so… full of contradictions, and when i write him each sentence seems to contrast so deeply with the last. If it felt like you were being man-handled by multiple kickboxers then don’t worry, that’s exactly how I felt too.
> 
> -I don't know the actual age difference between the Zoldyck kids, but the hunterpedia website told me that Alluka was only a year younger than Killua. So that's the age difference in this fic, in case anyone found their ages confusing.
> 
> -when it comes to big issues like Sad Feelings (ex, abandonment issues, self-worth issues, restlessness, etc.) i feel like they're incapable of talking about them like normal people lol. And if anyone's wondering why Killua doesn't automatically shoot down Gon's thoughts (about how he's not worth his time) it's literally because these boys are kids at heart, and talking about it is enough. Because they're strong, and the only thing that they really fear is the other leaving them behind because of how twisted they are. So confirmation through small things like Killua joining him in bed and holding his hands is proof enough to Gon that though he's kinda' messed up, in the end Killua doens't care, and that's all that matters.
> 
> -to add to the previous thought, i don't think the two of them are people who try and fix other people's problems. if Killua had tried to tell him otherwise, not only would Gon probably not believe him, he would feel incompetent and dependant himself. support by standing at each other's side is enough :)
> 
> -Gon having major abandonment issues; was it obvious in this installment or what lol
> 
> -When Killua becomes frozen and deep in thought, it's actually a form of shallow paralysis in my mind, where he's fighting back panic and the result is his body just... shutting down and locking up. not unlike sleep paralysis but Killua never sleeps soooo
> 
> -(i will edit this later shhh)
> 
> -Ging genes lmao
> 
> -wanna hit me with a stick? by all means, come on by to my tumblr (@iooiu). i will hold very still i promise. either that or we can talk about hxh I'm down for whatever

**Author's Note:**

> based on a something i doodled that still lives in my thinking space rent free. kinda' makes me :( when people call gon a monster or the one who has all the blame for what happened in the caa (oh good Lord the caa). ANYway, this is about all i have in terms of notes lol.


End file.
